


Breakthrough

by x_x



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lavellan is angy, and deeply traumatized, and likely re-enacting old issues stemming from childhood, excuse me sir that is my emotional support spirit, she thought there was one fake b!tch in this house, some of you have never had an emotionally unavailable immortal as a boyfriend and it shows, templar spec!Lavellan, why yes that is a harem vibe i am going for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_x/pseuds/x_x
Summary: The Anchor has reactivated, and its effects are now amplified. Lavellan has to come to terms with dying. Or, can she instead come to terms with living?
Relationships: Cole & Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. The Hand Dealt Against Her

It was snowing tonight. Good. She didn't want to bother about covering her tracks. And frigid as the air was, it was also remarkably calm. There'd be no headwinds to impede her further, at least.

"They'll worry," Cole was insisting. "Maybe...maybe if you leave a note?"

"They'll know without me telling them. There's nothing they can do for me."

Lavellan paused, breathing her way through the next wave of light spasms of the Anchor. She was used to high stakes. There was always some race to a deadline. And there were never any easy ways out-- there was only ever going  _ through _ . That was old hat to her. And she was familiar enough with loss.

Cole was suddenly gone from her side, at the far end of the courtyard. "Here. Blinding bright, laudably loud. I stay for this excitement. This is my home. This is my Inquisitor. I would fight for her again."

She said nothing in response, continuing to walk as the pain subsided.

"And here." Cole reappeared across the way of her flank. "Fingers fretting on seams and trim, the air too quiet after the burst of green. I forget how young she is until I saw again today. Too young to stay alone. My nephew is a knucklehead, but maybe...when this is over...."

It would have wasted breath to tell him to stop, she knew.

"This one. Focus on each hammer strike, the beat of bones rattled, heart steady, fire flashing another tint behind the eyelids. The insurmountable has been surmounted before. It cannot be our Herald's time yet. I can only make weapons, but in the coming days, I will make plenty."

In her next stride, Cole was stepping into pace with her.

Quietly, he insisted, "There is no hate here. Not for you."

"Not yet," she said.

The shock of pain from her arm took her to her knees, and she immediately curled her face to her legs to muffle the cry the burst out. She ground her toes into the ground and tensed as the sensation violated her, green energy crackling around them. Only once she trusted herself to remain quiet did she unbend, breathing heavily and focusing her hazy vision.

"The longer I stay here, the longer all of them will be in danger," she huffed, annoyed at how shaky she sounded. Still, it was something Cole couldn't argue with. He reached for her, but she shot him a look of reproach and forced herself up onto wobbly legs on her own. "You shouldn't get too close, either."

Lavellan drew another slow breath, the icy air scraping on its path down into her lungs. Gripping the bag strap over her shoulder with one hand as some kind of way to ground herself, she began walking again. Cole followed, finally silent.

  
  
  


She was pissed, at first.

Raging, knuckles to brick, spitting and swearing and screaming. Everything just  _ always _ had to be so damn  _ difficult _ . Each time she adjusted, the stakes just raised even higher. Problems kept falling around her, willful as rain, and never stopped. Lavellan just wanted it to, even pause, even for only a moment. And the part that set her off the most-- that finally brought her to her knees, wailing and sobbing, an absolutely pitiful wretch-- was that her fate was sealed.

This was no longer a matter of waking up writhing for hours in the night from pain, of stealing away and finding somewhere private to collapse and spasm out of sight from others during the day, of gritting her teeth through the screams.

This was, a half-demolished fallen tower where her quarters used to be. Where the war room used to be. Where a sizeable chunk of Skyhold's main  _ building _ used to be.

The blast had knocked  _ her _ out. And when she came to-- on the ground, a far cry from how she remembered herself standing in her bedchamber-- Harding was hovering nearby, but barely close enough to touch. And others had crowded around the site of the explosion too, only distantly.

By some stretch of luck, no one had gotten seriously injured. And anyone buried in the rubble had been dug out easily enough. The bulk of damage done by the explosion had been her room, and some of the immediate surrounding stone walls supporting the tower. Neighboring structure had been scuffed by falling debris from the tower, but the castle had been build to withstand trebuchet fire; it held.

Yet, the damage was done.

The realization was made.

She had scrambled to her feet, strode across the courtyard-- no one made a move to stop or address her-- and found seclusion in the high tower Cullen once occupied.

And yes, her initial reaction to it was to be very, very angry. But her knee-jerk reflex was always, defy.  _ Fight _ . And, that had been her response upon receiving her confirmed death sentence.

She screamed until her voice was lost, punched brick until she couldn't feel her hand anymore, and once spent, cried until it felt like there was nothing left inside her except for the sharp pierce of green Fade invading her body.

She was going to die. Soon. Sooner than she ever expected.

Everybody dies, sure. She hadn't ever thought she'd live forever, or even live long and well.

But any preconcepts of her death were set vaguely but surely only after she put an end to Solas's madness and saved the world again. She'd make him answer for everything. And  _ after _ she was done doing so, then yeah, alright, she may have more readily accepted dying,  _ after _ the work was done. So much for that plan. Not looking at the damage she'd caused to the castle. Funny, her old Keeper and the other clan elders told her she was too much a lit fuse, set to blow a moment's caprice; who knew they were prophecizing her exact fate. She didn't even know how long she had from here on.

It was ironic, considering how there was no end to the amount of grief she had alway caught for her lack of planning.

Consider the consquences, think about repurcussions, play the long game-- and her question to it all was,  _ when _ ? When did she ever have time to do any of those things? If there was anything she had learned in life, it had been that there was only ever time enough to  _ act _ .

When exactly was she supposed to sit down and think, or was it when she heard that tell-tale cry for help down the deserted hallway? When she threw open the doors and interrupted a sacrificial ritual? When she was thrown into prison for barely surviving? When she was thrown into high worship as the Herald? When she led the charge against Corypheus as the Inquisitor? When she found out the Qunari were plotting an invasion? When it was revealed  _ Solas _ was the one who needed to be stopped all along?

When she realized she was going to spontaneously explode into green oblivion sometime in the foreseeable future?

Plans had never fit well into the grand scheme of things. Plans were something she always let others handle.

Solas...used to get  _ so _ wound up about that with her.

Somewhere past the hum of pain, she became aware of Cole was kneeling over her, presence whispering into her space as easily as if he'd never left.

He used to startle her like that, make her jump. And she wasn't sure at this point if she got used to it, or if she was simply too desensitized to be jumpy about anything anymore.

Gently, he raised her with one arm and held a potion to her lips, and she was too weary to do anything but drink it.

"See? You didn't forget." She heard him distantly as she sipped. He was tipping the bottle slowly for her as he continued to speak. "Strange that I find it a comfort.... This form stays warm."

She choked a bit, throat tightened from the feel of her shattered hand fitting its broken pieces back together, and Cole pulled the bottle from her so she could cough away the feeling.

"Of course I'm here," he said, answering a thought that hadn't quite finished forming in her head just yet. "I told you, I would be. For you, I'll remember. Remember from you helps me to help better. I've been able to help so many, so much."

Once the potion settled a bit in her stomach, she had the strength to sit up on her own. Her hand was good again, her throat was fine. There was still...this overall sense of exhaustion, though. And the eternal stab of the Anchor in her arm. She turned away from its glow to face Cole.

"I must be in pretty bad shape for you to come."

The look on his face would have been enough, but still, he said, "Frying up from the inside, all jagged broken pieces that stab outward, and none of them fit right anymore, so just make me dead then, if this is all there is and ever will be, just make me...."

He trailed off, lowering his gaze almost as if in apology.

"You...needed. I felt it, louder than anything." Then, voice suddenly firm. "I'll help."

One thing she had always appreciated about Cole was that she never had to say anything for him to already know. And this latest development, that she didn't even want to put into words for anyone yet.

A flare of pain split into her conscious and she lurched, hunched over to bite off the second half of a scream as the Anchor flashed them in green.

" _ Don't _ ," Lavellan grit out, shrinking further into herself when she saw Cole reach for her again.

She shuddered as the pain took another moment to tremor through her system.

In the fog of her mind, she heard the Well offer a suggestion.

_ Yeah, _ she thought. _ Fine. I was leaving anyway. _

  
  
  


Ever forward, wasn't it? And this wouldn't be her first time leaving a home behind.

Lavellan took a last look at the silhouette of Skyhold against the white snow of the Frostbacks.

It was stupid, but in the whirlwind of thought, emotion, and dots of pain jammed into her skull like it was trying to crack her open from the inside-- Solas's voice shined and steadied her. Calmed and comforted her.

He'd once said about Haven,  _ "It will always be important to you." _

Stupid.

Stupid that it was Solas who stood with her on this exact crest of hilltop when she first set eyes upon Skyhold. How her jaw dropped and she hadn't even bothered containing her excitement as she looked at him. Who could say they never fantasized about someday living in a castle?

Solas had only smiled back at her. The look an adult wears upon gifting a simple toy to a small child, amused by how much enthusiasm could be won over from something so insignificant.

Stupid.

She knew that now.

How distant all of that felt. The whole of the Inquisition at her back, marching towards the abandoned fortress in the soft hues of early light, Solas so close at her side that she could feel the warmth off him. She remembered how light she had felt-- smug, really. Having cheated death, having escaped with allies she could admit she'd grown fond of in short time, and having that tiny pull in her chest due to the budded feelings of a dumb, silly crush. Being the Herald had more than its fair share of irritating, and she'd never wanted it-- but she had been happy. Why was she only realizing now that she had been happy?

_ "It will always be important to you." _

No.  _ No _ . She didn't want it to. She didn't want Solas to have ever been important to her, to have had any effect on her, to have changed her.

Not anymore than he already had--

_ Stupid _ .

She cried out again, hurtled into the snow as the Anchor razed the hillside. She was shaking uncontrollably, unsure how much was pain and how much was the cold, and how much was it simply her being emotional over a man who sealed her fate.

Cole drifted into her vision, watching, hovering.

"It's all those things," he told her quietly. "It's every single one, and it's too much. That's why."

She averted her gaze, biting down on her lip and lurching against the powdered frost as the Anchor's light snapped back into her, where it seemed it might settle down finally. Surprisingly, Cole didn't reach for her. Maybe it was because he realized there was nothing he could do to help with this.

There was snow and darkness chipping at her skin, magic twisted up and choking out her nerves, and Solas was long gone.

Somehow, in the numb of it, she wrenched herself from the ground, back onto her feet and fell back into a steady pace, trying to outwalk Cole's stare.

  
  
  


She collapsed soon after. Likely, not even too far from where the Anchor had taken her down earlier. She could've screamed again from the frustration.

She had fought dragons and undead, bloodied worse and more mangled than this, and she couldn't even move her legs anymore.

She wondered if this was the plan all along-- to have her die and no longer be a thorn in his side, be a bit less weight on his conscience. Would it be too much to hope she ever mattered even to that extent for him?

Lavellan did scream. The Anchor sent a tremble of ache up her arm for it, and she just screamed. She grabbed some snow and tossed it fruitlessly, and screamed. She pounded on her numb, aching legs, and screamed. She grasped the end of her arm, clutched at the cracked skin and magic stabbing through it, and screamed and screamed.

Nothing changed.

She could scream, and she was still going to die. She could get up again, and she was still going to die. She had rejected her role as Andraste's 'Herald', and she was still made to play it. She became the leader the Inquisition wanted her to and pushed the organization into power, and it still fell to the same petty power struggles she'd before sneered at. She loved someone,  _ him _ , with everything in her heart that she didn't think was in her, and still he.... She had accepted fate's dealt hands over and over, and she worked with it or fought against it, she did everything she could, she did everything she was supposed to, she did  _ everything _ , and  _ still _ .

She screamed.

When she ran out of voice, Cole was there, ducking underneath her arm pulling her upright. He knew she wouldn't protest him this time.

"Feet unfeeling, mind and body reeling, and still rest is unappealing," Cole murmured. "Broken and abandoned, a tossed away toy who longs for him to make her move like he did before."

" _ Cole _ ," she said, and immensely hated the way her voice sounded as it came out.

She realized she was shaking again, and this time, the shaking wouldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," he said, in a tone of voice that just made it worse, "but you're mixed up, that's all."

" _ I _ \--" She was choking on her breath, lungs burning from the icy air. She coughed, keeling, practically being carried by Cole at this point. Somehow, he dragged her easily along. He didn't say anything. And she didn't, either. She didn't know what she could say. She wanted to say all the things she shouldn't.

"You can if you want to," Cole said. "To me."

She feigned another coughing fit, to cover up the strangled, strained noises she started making instead as her eyes blurred.

  
  
  


Cole ultimately stopped them for the night, long before daylight, and longer before she would've preferred. But even with that, it was at a point when Lavellan hardly even tethered to her last thread of pride to insist they keep moving. Probably, that was the whole point of him dragging her this far.

She was useless in setting up camp.

Cole had gotten a fire up, a small set of rations out for her, and a bedroll for her laid out while she was spitting and cursing, struggling with the same loop-around motion with the same bit of rope she'd started out with. He put a hand over hers, and she relinquished it wordlessly. She felt like she'd barely finished swallowing her first bite of food when he had a tent up. She didn't even have the energy to feel anything about that.

  
  
  


_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. _

_ I don't want to die. _

_ I don't-- _

  
  
  


She remembered the last time she'd been stripped down to nothing.

When her Keeper finally told her she would be going on a solo recon mission to the Conclave. They hadn't chosen a mage, who would've been able to blend in with the proceedings. Or a rogue, who would've been able to sneak their way in. They sent her-- a warrior. And she knew she wasn't expected to come back. And it was downhill from there, to walking in on some sort of forbidden ritual, to waking up cuffed and weak and sore in a jail cell.

And still, that didn't compare to the now.

Twisting in her bedroll from the Anchor's sear, shivering to the point of seizing, clamping down on all of it to try and sleep and escape the nightmare that was her waking life somehow. Varric had warned her early on, that this would be a tragedy. That she should run.

Lavellan recalled all the bodies-- the twisted corpses she'd passed during her journeys-- the horrific ways a person could die in the world. She imagined they, too, had prayed for a breakthrough, a deliverance from their agony. She needed no further proof than the gnarled shapes seared into her memories that there would be no reprieve for her, either. Only suffering, until the very end.

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.  _

The Anchor lashed her with another flood of unkempt energy and this time, she screamed loud, throwing off her blankets as she lurched.

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.  _

She clutched her arm, balling tight around it, focusing hard on the pain and not thinking past it. She was weakest like this, her inhibitions whittled down by bare needs and wishes. But the latter wouldn't save her.

_ I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _

And it was better to stuff her head cram full of the things she didn't want than to let sneak in thoughts of what she  _ did _ want.

Because what she wanted--

More pain ripped through her and she kicked, writhing. It  _ hurt _ . Why did it have to hurt this much?

What she would've wished for--

Why couldn't it stop hurting?

\--left her in literal pieces. Left her incomplete and less of herself than she was.

And so, Lavellan trembled, in agony, in the freezing cold, in the dark, into herself. She shook.

And shook.

And shook.

And refused to wish for anything more.

_ I don't want to die. _

A hand, warm despite the winds cutting through the tent flap, touched her shoulder. She only curled tighter into herself, hoping he would go away. Instead, she found her blankets being pulled snug around her, swathing her. Her bedroll underneath her was being straightened. Cole positioned himself between her and the brunt of the icy, mountain winds. She stared through him, blinking rapidly and thinking not of wishes.

Thinking not.

_ I don't want to die. _

Thinking....

A sob escaped her, but she just coiled tighter. Tried to shake the feeling like she tried to shake the pain of the Anchor tearing her apart, like she tried to shake Cole's stare and his presence and the reason why he came back to her.

Why did it have to hurt so bad?

Her vision was blurred, her throat was swelled with anguish.

She was going to cry and be pathetic, and he was going to see. Cole's hand came to a rest atop her head.

"Let me help."

The last of her pride squeezed out in a new barrage of tears as she shut her eyes tight, curled into him, and allowed herself to be held.


	2. The Hand She Holds

The snow had no give here, grimy and more wet than slush in the places it was loose. Too much footfall had been through, flattening the ice until it was simply a shallow sheen of misplaced slip over the terrain of stone to break oneself on. Freed hands upon sword and shield, she trudged on behind the Seeker, not any less in the undeniable dark, but feeling more sure of herself with weapons in hand.

"It's...you," Cassandra said then, and she seemed surprised to be seeing her, seeing what was around them.

Then, Lavellan remembered.

_This is where we met._

She doubled over as her left arm flared up, green light snapping mad and wild into the air around them. Her shield fell with a clatter, nothing having been there to brandish it by. Cassandra took her by the other arm, rough but solid in supporting her weight. They were still walking onward, as if the scenery were moving past them instead of the other way around.

"This is...," Cassandra trailed off as the world around them shifted.

They were in the Chantry, _Haven's_ Chantry, moving towards the war room. At this point, neither of them needed to question it further; Lavellan had before described her Fade dreams to the others of the Inquisition on occassion. Emboldened by their new surroundings, as if it reminded her of exactly who she was, Cassandra's gait changed. She walked with assertion, and she tugged Lavellan into pace with her.

"Something has happened," she prompted. It wasn't a question. She expected Lavellan to jump right in with an explanation.

And Lavellan knew better than to expect Cassandra was going to wait patiently. "I need you to....Preparations. Preprarations must be made."

"We are doing everything in our power, with what little of it remains." Cassandra's gaze flickered to her, brief, but it was enough to betray the worry there. "I thought the agreement was to hold. To gather information. We have time."

Lavellan yanked out of the other's grasp, forcing herself upright to prove she could do well enough without assistance.

"That's still the plan." It would have to be. The show must go on. Future battles were going to be waged, and had to be won, even if Lavellan wasn't going to be a part of them. "But you need to make accomodations for my...absence."

"Where are you going?"

Sometimes, Cassandra said certain things that took Lavellan off-guard with how innocuously earnest she was. In everything, Cassandra was forward and militant. And that was why whenever she sounded uncertain or confused, the contrast was so stark that it was comparable to a child's innocence. Seeing that side of her now...Lavellan could've laughed if the news weren't so dire.

The world collapsed and rebuilt around them again. They were in the Skyhold courtyard, by the training dummies. They had come to a stop.

"Cassandra," Lavellan said, finally looking at her head-on.

Realization hit. Cassandra went very pale. She whispered, "No."

It sounded the closest to defeat Lavellan had ever heard from her. Which was...unsettling. And confusing. Again, Cassandra had always been onward-leading. And it wasn't in the impatient, headlong rush into the fray that she used to frequently scold Lavellan for. It was simply that she had a knack for knowing where she needed to be, which was ahead of everyone else. Defending. Holding.

She was still staring at Lavellan, mouth agape as if she'd been told the latter had already died.

"It's the Anchor," Lavellan explained, kicking a foot awkwardly at a pebble on the ground that turned to smoke upon contact. "I don't know when exactly, but it will be soon."

"This is not the best news you could have told me." Though still visibly unsettled, Cassandra at least had picked her jaw up. But only in effect of the opposite extreme, the muscles in her cheek taut from how tight she was clenching her teeth now.

"It's fitting enough. No more Inquisition, no more Inquisitor."

She'd meant it as a joke, even if a morbid one. And as jokes more often than not flew with Cassandra, this one was a miss. The proud Seeker's eyes narrowed sharp, and her teeth bared in an angry grimace. That was why Lavellan was so stunned when she finally spoke, in a voice not serrated with rage, but in one that flowed with palliative command.

"Where are you?" Cassandra asked. And this time, when the dream reshaped, it started from her mouth, rippling outward in neat folds until the graveled dirt became wood planks and the open air became candle lit musk, and now they were standing next to a window. "I will come get you."

This was the upper level of the blacksmith's workshop, Lavellan realized, overcome with nostalgia.

This was where Cassandra had decided to rebuild the Seekers. She'd looked at Lavellan just like now, as they leaned against the window ledge, declaration a fire in her eyes. But this...was different. Lavellan had her left arm in the memory. Now, she leaned against the brick, rib bruising from the stone's pressure against it. She felt weary, withered, pain woven into every awareness of her being-- a world and a half away from the elf who'd returned Cassandra's gaze with a gusto of her own that could have shield bashed her way through an army.

"I can't be around anyone right now," Lavellan said, looking down when her voice came out graveled. "This... _thing_ is unstable. It could blow at any moment."

"Where will you go? I can meet you."

She could have laughed from the all-too-familiar irritation that Cassandra's steadfastness was sparking in her then. Here she was, butting heads with Cassandra, as if...as if no time had passed at all, and as if they weren't in completely different parts of the map living wholly separate lives. The Fade bent into the imagery around them wasn't helping how much all of it _hurt_. Because these things were gone.

So Lavellan just shook her head. "Cassandra, we don't have time. I'm counting on you to explain to the others. These dream visits are hit-and-miss for me. I don't know when the next--"

Searing pain robbed her of the next thought, arm blooming bursts of green and sending her doubling over. Cassandra was holding her up by the arms, supporting her, and this too felt nostalgic. And then, the dream was changing around, swirling around until green covered even the sky, and the snowy ground was rumbling with the echoes of pain coursing through Lavellan's body. Cassandra stayed her, hold steady and firm.

"There may be no Inquisition, but there still are those who are _with_ you. There may be no Inquisitor, but here still is my friend." Cassandra's voice was quiet, but sure, but sad as well. "Remember when you had told me you'd like to marry one day? I, too, want to see that come to pass."

Lavellan felt her heart clench at that. It was impossible.

The ground lurched especially rough then, and had them stumbling away from one another to maintain balance.

They were back where they had started. In the Frostbacks, climbing up the mountain towards the Breach. Their legs were pushing them onward again, moving them along uphill, up distantly familiar snow-powdered stone steps. And Lavellan again felt apprehension knotted in her gut as she realized that they were getting close.

She could only think, a second time, _This is where_ we _met._

She could hear the fighting.

 _Who's fighting?_ Her ribcage was squeezing tight.

The lighting around Cassandra shifted, something was pulling her away. _You'll see soon. We must help them._

Cassandra was whirling around, fading out and reaching for her, shouting in echoes, gone.

_Lavellan?!_

Lavellan could only watch as she disappeared, as all of it did, like a page was turning and Lavellan was turned with it.

She _felt_ the first word on that new, freshly-thumbed corner before she heard it.

  
  
  


"Vhenan."

  
  


The word fell like a drop of water upon canvas, but spread rapid as light upon contact, clearing all and any color, shape, and dimension away.

Lavellan felt the breath leave her as if she herself had spoken, emptying her out so that not even a soul remained in the hollowed husk standing in her place. The voice that had spoke wasn't hers at all, and yet it still left barbs lodged in her throat as if it'd traveled through anyway, preventing her from intaking renewed breath properly in its wake. It seemed no matter the origin, that word (that voice) held the power to sunder her from the inside out.

The Anchor twinged, settling off a skitter of itch throughout her body, but other than that she only felt numb. Like she were floating. Like she were drowning.

And when she looked over the back of her shoulder, and she saw _him_ standing there.

Not a distant wolf, wafting from the shadows of the edges of her vision. But her Heart, close enough to run to, close enough that she could see a reflection of herself in his eyes and be able to _know_ she was there, standing before him.

Solas.

Her Solas, whose skin she knew the feel of, whose face she could still remember the shape of between her hands, whose mouth she had tasted. That was him. All of him. And the way he looked at her now was the way she'd never admit she had been longing for him to look at her. Like she were real to him, and not some wretch, on her knees on the ground, begging for him, broken and easy to turn away from. He looked at her now as if he were the beggar, as if she were the one at risk of disppearing.  
  
The Anchor's skitter turned into a hum, an _ache_ over her skin, like all the ghost touches he'd left behind were recollecting and pressing fire into her flesh. It was the sort of fire that begged more fire. Lavellan would have given anything to have Solas give that to her again. The aches echoed every lingering touch, every glance that lasted a moment too long, every foreshadowing caress. She stepped toward him, only to stop when he quickly stepped back.

All at once, she knew it was Fen'Harel instead staring back at her.

And she was able to take in the rest of him as well. Adorned in fine fur, glistening armor, and fine robes that flowed off his form. He looked _well_. A very hurt piece of her wondered if he'd ever looked that good when he had been beside her, and hedged into the question of where his true place was after all.

How must she have looked in his eyes, then? Falling apart and worser off since their last meeting.

"I thought you were dead," he admitted to her. Cool and detached, and eyeing her with a level of study that one might apply to some unfamiliar creature. "You had not entered the Fade for some time."

"Yeah, I know it'd be _so_ hard on you to lose out on your next chance to cast me sad looks from afar," Lavellan snarled before she could realize the rage had set fire to all her pulsepoints.

As if to humble her, a shock from the Anchor left her gasping and bent over.

It was a good reminder, she told herself as she clamped her lips tight over a whimper. Even Solas used to go unresponsive whenever she raised her voice. The great, dreaded Fen'Harel likely wouldn't tolerate it. All this time, chasing shadows and wolves, and he was right there. He was finally right there. She could talk to him.

She'd wanted to talk to him. How long had it been now? And she still wanted to talk to him.

She relented, "I haven't been sleeping. That's all."

He'd actually sounded so concerned for her earlier; she found herself clinging to this, tucking it into a safe corner of her heart. She'd take it. She'd take anything, at this point. It was pathetic, really. She shouldn't want anyone's pity, but for the fact that it was pity that belonged to Solas, she was near greedy for it.

Lavellan stood upright again as soon as she was able, desperate not to let Solas out of her sight again. But what she set her sights on then was a large, dark wolf.

"Solas?" Lavellan asked carefully, although panic was creeping in. The dream was turning dark, the wolf's edges were blurred, form bleeding into the shadows. "Solas!"

Green glanced of the high points of his fur, flickered across the wet shines of his eyes and teeth and claws-- and then the Anchor was cleaving through her again.

" _Solas_ !" Lavellan cried out desperately, trying to reach him as her knees buckled. But he was already turned, loping away, fading from her. Leaving again. She moved forward, even while on her knees. Even if she had to _crawl_ \-- "Solas, _wait_ , damn you!"

But he was gone.

The dream was crumbling. And she already knew the tears she was crying here would still be with her as she woke. "Damn you...."

She succumbed.

  
  


Lavellan woke up screaming, in fact.

Her left arm felt as if it were being pried open, splitting at the bone. All she could see was that terrible green. She was swimming in it. There was a split second she had of cognitive thought, of flashing back to the last time this happening and of the collapsed tower at Skyhold, of _oh shit_. And suddenly, it exploded brighter. She was flying backward, barely catching enough ground to constitute it as a skid. She heard the crack of trees giving way to the force, snow being ejected and displaced in mounds.

Her back hit a tree, the blow barely cushioned by the tuft of thick bark around the trunk, and the impact shook loose flurries from the branches, powdering her in it.

The Anchor emitted several more clusters of weaker bursts into the air, and Lavellan let out a few more miserable noises as she squeezed her arm like an effort in vein to cut _off_ the energy flow and the pain. She'd honestly give up _more_ of her arm if it meant less pain....

As the Anchor's bursts tamed, she shook her head to get the snow off her face.

There was a whole strip of trees, broken through at the trunk, collapsed outward from where she lay. The tent had been completely blown away to somewhere she couldn't even spy from where she lay. A few of their belongings were scattered throughout the ground, while others dangled from still-upstanding trees.

Lavellan blinked at the wreck, bewildered and disoriented, before a thought struck.

"Cole?!" she called out in a panic. She tried to sit up, but the Anchor was still flaring in small bursts, keeping her on her back. " _Cole_!"

Cole appeared in her lane of vision then, looking only somewhat confused as if she'd only done something trivial. "Yes?"

He had a hand on her shoulder, and she belatedly realized now she had immediately clung fast to his arm.

"I...." Her eyes were still moving rapidly over him, skimming his face, his clothes, for any sign of dishevelment. "I just thought...."

"I've done this before. I know what to do." That's right. Cole was with her at the Crossroads, before.

"You-- you're-- _I_ \--"

"I won't go."

She hadn't even realized she was gasping for breath until she started pulling the air steadier, and felt more in her body than hovering somewhere back from it. She did realize she was just staring at Cole at that point, all weird and too fixated, and took some relief in that he either didn't notice or was plainly unbothered by it.

Still, embarassed and overwhelmed, she brought her arm up over her eyes. With a sardonic sort of amusement, she noted that her left arm was at least now shortened down the perfect length to wipe tears from her eyes. Green light bled in past her eyelids as she patted moisture from them. And then, she was laughing. Not a happy sound, but a tired, sick-of-crying laughter.

Cole helped her sit up and held her through it just the same.

  
  


She was likely equally as useful at gathering their thrown camp items as she was at setting them up the night before.

Cole had assured her she didn't have to, but she'd never enjoyed sitting idle when there were things to be done...even if she was performing rather poorly at doing them.

Her arm still throbbed terribly; even though it waned on occasion, it would still take her by surprise by a sudden shock of pain. Her throat felt awful, hoarse and raw from screaming and scraped rough still by the icy mountain air. And despite having slept the night through for the first time in days (slept _in_ from, as far as she could tell from the sun's position), it hadn't been enough to compensate for the interval before that she had not. And with dreams like hers, who needed a waking life?

But last night was different. While she'd been happy on some level to have been able to see Cassandra, this had been the first time she'd been able to speak with anyone while dreaming, apart from Solas. And Cassandra had no connection to the Fade; she wasn't even a mage. It would have made more sense to see Vivienne or--

Dorian.

Lavellan's hand went to her throat, seeking her message crystal.

Her heart went cold when she couldn't find it. She searched around her neck, patted down her clothes in case in had fallen, and then when turned up with nothing, she began frantically searching the snow. She can't have lost it. She can't have. What would Dorian think? It was somewhere around here. She had it on her when she fell asleep.

Lavellan's eyes watered, and with a certain self-contempt she knew she was hedging yet another breakdown. Just as the frantic build-up rose in her throat, Cole appeared at her side.

"No, no, here, I have it," he said, and he was pulling at her hand, opening her palm to place something heart-stoppingly familiar there. "It's safe. It's here."

Lavellan barely managed to swallow a sob, not sure if the tone he was using with her made it better or even worse. She barely had enough emotional capacity to feel much about something important of hers being in his possession by the end of it. "You took it from me?"

"You were finally _resting_ ," was Cole's meek defense. To his credit, he did look sorry as he held it back to her. "I...helped."

The crystal was resonating. Dorian was trying to reach her. She wondered for how long. She'd skipped out on the last several of his attempts to contact her, when the Anchor had really started to hurt. She hadn't wanted to say anything without knowing what exactly was happening.

Cole was already gone again from her side when she looked up, flitting around the grounds and humming to himself, allowing her space. Part of her at this point was desperate to hear Dorian's voice, to be able to roll her eyes at his exorbitance. And yet, the other part of her was reluctant. She wasn't sure if she could be up to matching his pace this time, chatting back and forth like they would. Suddenly, Lavellan couldn't even blame Cole for having hidden the crystal from her and stalling this conversation.

The crystal was resonating.

Swallowing at the soreness crusting her throat, she finally raised the crystal to her mouth.

"Dorian," she said unsurely, unable to think up a fancy greeting.

" _Vishante kaffas_ , was that so hard?! Nuh-uh-uh. Stop! You don't get to answer that. I'm going first while I'm already ahead."

Dorian's voice rang so loud and sharp, she nearly dropped the crystal. Before she could even process the first string of words, he already was throwing more at her.

"Because this morning, I'm carrying on with my normal routine, shouting down the customary improprieties of bigots, zealots, and _idiots_ per par the Imperium, whilst sabotaging the standard attempt on my life because it was getting to be around that time of the month-- only to _overhear_ in _passing_ , as in, a conversation I was _not_ even initially privy to, these wild rumors of Skyhold exploding, and of the retired Inquisitor having been ill and suddenly _gone_ , of having been possibly assassinated or lost in an experimenting with magic gone wrong...."

Lavellan was still reeling, but now she was confused on top of it. How long exactly through the day had she slept in?

Then, she remembered that word traveled faster than feet, whether intentionally sent or not. The explosion at Skyhold _would_ be the type of news to spread so quickly. Especially after the way the Inquisition disbanded.

"Do you have the slightest imagination available to conceive _why_ I gave you that crystal? So that _I_ hear of these things _before_ they're vague, worrisome, unreliable rumors! So that-- so that I'm not left _wondering_ ." Finally, Dorian's steam took a pause. Then, "Why did I hear none of this before? You've been _ill_? What.... Why would you hide that? From me? Is that why you haven't been answering lately?"

As Dorian's anger ebbed into something lower, something that felt like it punched holes in her gut, Lavellan had to fight the urge to toss the crystal away. This was what she would have preferred to avoid. Anger was easy. It was familiar to her, a language she was fluent in. But sadness? She didn't know what at all to do with that.

"I haven't been much for talking these days," she said lamely.

"No...I suppose you wouldn't be," was his response. He sighed, his previous outburst long blown through. But Lavellan didn't at all think this new mood was any better. "What parts are true, then? Catch me up at least."

And here it was. A conversation she didn't want to have. "The Anchor's been acting up."

" _That_ wretched thing again." Dorian took a moment, likely digesting the implication. She could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"My arm had been hurting for a while, but I just put it down to phantom pain. And then, it kept getting worse.... Next thing I knew, it was glowing again."

"Then Solas didn't fix it after all?"

"To be fair, I think he tried. I remember him saying something like I'd have a few years of peace. So I don't get why now...."

"When it's only been a month," Dorian agreed grimly. He drew a slow breath before asking his next question. "The explosion at Skyhold? Was that...?"

"It demolished a tower. I was in my quarters at the time, and...well, it's gone now." Quickly, she added, "No one got hurt or anything. Somehow. But it's better that I stay as far away from others as possible."

"Yes...." Strange, even as he said that, there was something about his tone that made her wonder if he actually disagreed. "That...would be the wisest route."

"I'm here, Dorian," Cole spoke up then.

"Cole?!" For some reason, Dorian sounded awfully relieved, as if his presence immediately resolved an unspoken concern of his. "So you _are_!"

"She needed help. She needed help and I found her."

"He's got some resistance to the Anchor's explosions," Lavellan reasoned, so that Dorian wouldn't assume she was putting Cole's safety into jeopardy just for the sake of company. "And, if need be, he can vanish into the Fade in an emergency."

"Of course," Dorian said, that odd murmur of strain in his voice again.

Cole leaned forward to the crystal. "But I will do everything I can to ensure that doesn't have to happen."

"Good lad." Dorian let out something like a sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath. It confused Lavellan, but then he was asking something else. "And the pain?"

"Nothing that hasn't been handled," she answered in a voice she hoped would tell him not to press her on that, as well as discourage Cole from offering anymore of his own perspective.

Luckily, Dorian let it be. "Your swordsmanship?"

"I do fine enough. Cole is here to back me up. All else fails, I can explode."

"Saying things that way isn't helping," Cole chided quietly, as if _she_ were the socially inept one.

She could only manage an incredulous look back at him. He held her gaze coolly. And just as she realized they'd begun a rather intentionally pointed staring contest, Dorian continued their conversation.

"Then it's safe to say you're ducked far into the landscape by now," he said.

"I couldn't stay at Skyhold and endanger everyone there," Lavellan reminded him with a sigh.

It seemed the staring contest ended in a draw, since Cole also disengaged and stood up. When Lavellan followed him with her eyes as he walked away, she realized all of their gear had been picked up and put away into the two sacks they'd left Skyhold with. They were ready to set on again.

"And there's no where else I can go," she continued.

"Don't be stupid. You're coming here."

Lavellan blinked, unsure if she heard him right. Or, unsure if Dorian may have forgotten the primary factor of her self-exhile. "You realize I'd be putting lives at stake just _being_ there."

"Splendid. You've no idea how useful that would prove in Tevinter. If it's no matter to you, I can put you up in a guest property next to the living abodes of my least favorite magisters. 'It was no one's fault! It's just her _condition_ , you see!' I cannot _wait_ to use that."

The laugh that escaped her was out before she realized she'd found the statement funny. She raised a hand to her mouth, surprised. Somehow, she'd forgotten she was still capable of laughter. The actual happy kind.

"I'll be able to squeeze at least a few 'unfortunate, unavoidable's from that excuse before they start trying to hold me accountable." For some reason, Dorian's voice had grown warmer as he continued the joke, despite the subject matter. "And...I'm, of course, serious about you coming. Whatever the Anchor is doing, all we need to do is find out how to _un_ do."

Lavellan hesitated. "Dorian...."

"I didn't critique the Inquisition library for nothing, you know. The fathomage of the archives here-- how far they date.... And you remember that Tevinter allegedly appropriated much from the ancient elves? Solas wouldn't let _me_ forget. If there is something that can help you, it will be here. We'll find it."

"I...."

Dorian made an annoyed, unbecoming sound in his throat then, and Lavellan could hear someone else speaking to him in the background.

"Yes, tell him I simply cannot _wait_ ," he told them sarcastically. His voice came close and clear again, and he was addressing her. "Listen, I have to go. But this conversation is far from over."

"It's fine," Lavellan responded to him, as she nodded to Cole. She tried to pick up the bigger sack, only to find he was already pulling its weight over his shoulder. When she raised her eyebrow at Cole, he simply acted like he didn't leave her the smaller one on purpose. "We...were just heading out anyway."

"Lavellan. Don't--" Doran spoke then before stopping himself. He sighed, rethinking his approach. Then, "I'd like to avoid premature signs of aging. And I have about three new fine lines I can blame you for."

"I'll tell you if anything else happens," she assured him.

"Alright." Then, he added, "And _pick up_ when I contact you, for venhedis sake."


	3. Stacks

"We can stop."

Lavellan didn't respond. Couldn't.

She was biting down too hard on her bottom lip, grinding her knees into the snow, huddled into herself as she fought tears and the whine rising in her throat. Green bursts of light snapped from her arm and she flinched as the sensation blew through her.

Cole was sitting on her other side. And to his credit, he didn't reach for her.

He did, however, repeat, "We can stop."

She shook her head stubbornly. It was all she could manage before another lash of energy halted every thought that didn't have to do with pain. They'd already had a late start, and they couldn't even make much progress through the mountains with her in this state. Suffice to say, setting up camp with this much daylight still to work with would be a waste. If all she was going to do was sit and suffer, she opted to walk and suffer instead.

Would have opted, anyway.

If it weren't for this fucking--

This time, Lavellan did scream as the Anchor roared her vision to white.

_ \--this fucking liability _ , was how she finished her earlier thought, once she could think again. She was focusing on her breaths, pulling slow like anything could trigger the next fit the Anchor wanted to throw. Then, slowly, she dared to open her eyes, and open her jaw from clenching.

"..eathe," Cole had been the one telling her, she realized. Been the one repeating it. "Breathe."

He had his hands on her shoulders and she leaned into it, letting his voice lull her. The pain was still too great for her to do much else, but at least there was no explosion. This time.

That...was supposed to be the good news. Stumbling along the mountain, dropping to her knees every time the wind blew wrong and sometimes even if it blew right-- bad enough she was reduced to nothing, unable to even hold a shield anymore, thrown away by the world, by  _ Solas _ \--  _ stop, no, I'm  _ not _ thinking about that _ \-- but she couldn't even retire quietly, right? She  _ had _ to die. And it couldn't be a quick death. Or a normal death. She had to go down suffering, not knowing when. It wasn't even enough to suffer; she had be crushed entirely.

So would end her tale! She could hear the bards singing lightly of it now, spinning all the outrageous details into jokes. The great story of the Dalish elf who couldn't quite stop getting  _ fucked _ .

"Pain," Cole murmured, and suddenly Lavellan was aware of the tremble to him. "It all just becomes  _ pain _ , and nothing but. Inside and outside. It smothers and shakes and shreds-- and, it's too much. And, I'm...sorry. I can't do anything for you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm--"

Lavellan found herself placing her hand atop his head. She ruffled his hair slightly, until he met her eyes.

"We can stop," she acquiesced.

  
  


She occupied herself attempting to twine that same bit of rope around the same tent stakes as the night before, while Cole did...essentially everything else. And just as before, Lavellan was swearing under her breath and grinding her teeth from the frustration of it all by the time Cole came over to relieve her of it. He'd already had half the tent risen.

"Let's spar," Cole said, as he smoothed out the tent canvas over the risen stakes.

Lavellan had been watching him, admittedly not bothering to hide her sulking at being once again useless. But at his suggestion, she lifted her chin slightly from where she'd been resting it on her knees. "Where's this coming from?"

"Your swordsmanship. When Dorian had asked you." He looked at her. "You lied."

She nearly argued, before she recalled who she was talking to. No secrets with Cole. Impossible. Much of the time,  _ he _ knew how to describe her own thoughts and feelings before she herself did.

And it was true. Her swordsmanship was not at all where it should be--  _ Where it used to be _ , she thought bitterly. Come bandits or bears, she was not in fighting shape. Since she'd lost her arm, her balance was amiss; the first few days she'd felt weird enough just walking, much less trying anything with a sword in hand.

"You'll get better," Cole assured her. "In time."

"I don't have time," she snapped. She'd only shut her jaw quick enough after as the Anchor took cue to crackle, the green sparks wisping around her as she clenched her teeth.

Cole was nevertheless taking stance parallel of her, taking his dual blades from his back.

Creators, but she  _ really _ could do with hitting something.... And it wasn't as if she'd ever backed down from a challenge before. Even when it would end terribly for her.

Lavellan heaved herself to her feet, brandishing her sword from her belt.

Had it been anyone else, she might have been further provoked by a smug look. But Cole only gazed at her stoically, spinning a blade in either hand to loosen his wrists. Still, that expectation worked nearly as well to aggravate her. She wasn't sure which she would rather deal with. Cole was both the give and take. He was somehow the best  _ and _ the worst person for her to be around at this time.

"Thank you," Cole told her.

Point proven.

The sword put all her weight on one side. She didn't even have a shield to balance it out. Worser still, her sword felt  _ heaviy _ . Clunky. When it had once been an extension of her. She realized she hadn't been doing a whole lot since disbanding the Inquisition, other than be explicitly told by others to rest and relax, and she'd kind of been failing at that somehow too.

She shifted her weight, trying to feel out her center.

"It's all wrong," Cole said. "Wrong arm, wrong weapon. An entirely different dance and it changes upon first step."

It was true. She normally led with her left. With her shield. She would throw forward, and bash into mobs. She didn't have that anymore.

Lavellan threw with her sword.

Cole deflected her smoothly, nearly disarmed her with an outturned flick of the same motion. She had to yank backwards into a stumble to break from it in time. Clumsy.

"Wobbly, wispy, a balanced drop of blood upon a pin's precipice, precarious," Cole remarked.

Lavellan swung her sword back into an angled point towards him. The movement ran like a wave through her, taking her whole body to execute. But that was how it was, wasn't it? Her full body engaged, her sword an extension. Yes. This was how it was.

She lunged at him. He diverted her with one blade, striking with the other. She lilted her sword sideways to parry him, catching both of his blades to her one. She had him, but he had her. Shit. It was times like these, a shield would have been her saving grace. Instead, her left arm flailed uselessly and glowed uselessly. And  _ hurt _ .

"The mirror of what once had been," Cole noted. "What defended, now damages."

The poetic irony won something of a smile from her. She broke from their stalemate before he could see. Too late did she recall that it wouldn't matter. He'd see anyway, even if she hid it.

"Ticklish," Cole told of it then, and he was smiling too.

She balked at the notion.

And this time, he moved. She braced with her sword to block. Cole's attacks surged quick, and she could remember now that they were mostly all flash. They glanced off her sword, sounds pinging sharp, but the mass of them created a rattle down to the hilt that was making her hand go numb.

She waited for his finisher-- there, a double-plunge forward with both blades-- and spun her sword in time to send both his blades careening off course, away from his body, leaving him open. She hacked at his middle. He caught her sword in time before it could hit his armor, but he lost his balance to it, and had to back off to avoid another attack.

The glimpse Cole sent her once he regained footing was one of approval.

Still. She needed to develop a new strategy of attack. Even now, her left arm flexed fruitlessly, the muscle memory readying a shield that would never be held again. Ignoring the twinge of the Anchor, she took initiative again.

A test throw, so she wasn't surprised when Cole blocked it. She was more focused on how little he budged upon catching the blow.

Her force was gone.

The muscles that Solas had once complimented her on were gone, she realized.

"He won't want me like this," Cole whispered.

Startled by her own surge of rage, Lavellan slashed. It was ugly, uncoordinated. But the brunt of it was enough to knock Cole back. She pursued with another vanguard blow. The clash of her blade on his rang throughout the clearing. She was swinging wildly now, easily deflected. But her heart was pounding in her ears and her eyes were searing, and she couldn't cut at the source, so she had to cut at  _ something _ .

The Anchor began to flash and spark, the pain leeching at the frays of her attacks, but she kept on, as if she could cut through that too. Cole caught her as she fell against him each time, their swords clanging and screeching as they met. Until finally, the Anchor rang louder than the swords in a brillant burst of green that knocked Lavellan out of step.

" _ OW _ ," she yelped, dropping her sword as her knees buckled. And then at her wit's end, she snarled, "Fucking....  _ Damn _ it!"

Had this been a real fight, she'd be open. Exposed. Helpless.

But it was Cole. She heard him sheath his blades. The snow crunched underfoot as he came to a crouch beside her. She avoided his gaze. Whatever was in his eyes at that moment, she didn't want to see it. Just in case it reflected more of the same; she'd gotten enough of those looks when Solas left without a word after Corypheus's defeat.

Poor, pitiful Lavellan, thrown aside like nothing. The once-Inquisitor, played for a fool.

"It's not a bad thing," Cole told her quietly. "You're just...mixed up. That's all."

No  _ shit _ she was mixed up. And how was that  _ not _ a bad thing? All her problems could be sourced to one asshole, one asshole who had essentially told her of his intent to destroy her world and saw her an inferior, and yet that one asshole was someone whose shitty, lying arms she'd dive back into if she managed to get close enough.

She was...all wrong. She was sick. She was broken.

"It's not a bad thing," Cole repeated, "to miss."

Her stupid vision was going all watery again, nose and throat clogging up. She was so  _ tired _ of this.

Cole shifted, and it seemed like he might say something more, but she willed it away. Hoped he could sense she didn't want to hear anything else.

And then, the message crystal was resonating.

Both Lavellan and Cole blinked at the gentle humbefore recognition took place. Then she was pulling it from her shirt as she attempted to pull herself back together. For a moment, she thought of ignoring it. Then, she remembered she had told Dorian she wouldn't do that anymore. So she didn't.

"Dorian," she said.

"Goody, she still listens to what I say," was Dorian's way of greeting. "You sound...winded. Did something happen?"

What hadn't happened? What wasn't happening? Lavellan didn't know how to put any of it in word form.

Cole leaned in then, hand on her back as he spoke to the crystal. "We were sparring."

"You don't say! Who won then?"

"He did," Lavellan said, at the same time that Cole said, "She did."

They exchanged surprised looks, while Dorian tittered. "Adorable. I must say, I envy your leisure time. Are you...still at the first campsite?"

"Might as well be," Lavellan huffed, still irritated it was the case.

"We'd left, but decided to make camp again early," Cole spoke for her again.

Despite Cole's attempt to dispense it indifferently, Dorian must have caught the meaning as to why they would have needed to. He made a sound then, that could have been laughter had it not been so serrated, like the broken fragments of a smashed wine bottle.

"Apologies," Dorian spoke after, voice still low. "It's just...having you maimed to point of limb removal has severely less appeal now that it hasn't done anything to save you."

For some reason, hearing Dorian say it out loud struck something inside of her. Even though she already knew all that, even though it was something she thought about constantly, it sounded different having it spoke by someone else. Flemeth had once told her, "Someday, someone will summarize all the terrible events of your life so quickly", and now she understood that wound.

If she was going to die horribly, couldn't she have just kept her arm at least? Couldn't she have kept  _ something _ ?

A pause. Then, Dorian asked, "Are you crying?"

" _ No _ ," she said, too quick, too shrill, and too broken.

More silence came from Dorian. Lavellan seized the opportunity to wipe at her face with her sleeve and sniffle her nose clear. Bad enough that Cole witnessed her being a constant wreck. She didn't need Dorian knowing it too. And she absolutely didn't need so many spectators each time she fell apart.

"I'm going hunting," Cole announced suddenly.

Lavellan snapped up, blinking at the sight of his back walking away. "W-Wait! Why?" She thought he didn't eat.

"For you," he told her, tilting his head as if he thought she were a bit slow.

"I still have food from Skyhold."

"You hate it."

"I--" She paused. She had been declining to eat all day mostly because she wasn't actually all that hungry. But she did have to admit, she probably didn't have the best feelings resonating from her when he did manage to push her to take a few bites. It was the last of their baring winter stores-- before they could pull anything real from the spring hunts-- all raisined, pickled, salted husks of what could have been prepared as  _ real  _ food during the warmer months.

"I'll be back," he called to her. "Speak with Dorian."

"Yes, speak with Dorian," the crystal piped up then. "Dorian, who feels...terrible, by the way. For having upset you. You already know I normally possess better tact. This is not a habit I'd ever intentionally take up."

"You didn't upset me," Lavellan insisted, wiping her face on her sleeve. "I was already...like this."  _ I'm always like this now _ , was how she thought of responding, but she figured the melodramatics were high enough already.

She heard a heavy sigh in response to that. After all, even with her attempt to water things down, the situation was unchanged. It was what it was.

"I'd received official word from Cassandra," Dorian remarked then, though the change of subject was no more lighter. "She must have reached Leliana first, to make use of the Divine's fastest birds. You did quite a number on our dear Seeker. She sounds half-unhinged describing you from a dream vision, foretelling your own death."

That might explain why he'd contacted her so shortly after having just spoken with her earlier. There was that, at least. If Dorian got the message, it meant everyone else had too. Now, they all knew to stay away.

A little relief went a long way with her, and Lavellan said, "Maybe she's taking writing lessons from Varric."

The joke was met with silence. Only, not quite silence. Dorian had gone quiet, but she could hear the low warble in his breaths. It seemed it was her turn to upset him.

The Anchor was winding up again, but not even the pain was enough to take her attention from the sounds breaking from the crystal then. Lavellan sat with it, not knowing what to say or do, wracking her mind for  _ something _ .

"Come here," Dorian said finally. Pleaded, practically. "If you don't, you should know I have no qualms about going to fetch you myself."

Lavellan forced a laugh to beckon his levity back. "What did Cassandra write, exactly?"

"Not just me-- all the rest of our lot will comb the southern continent for you. You'll be safer with us. Any of us. We'll take precaution. Bull and I will  _ tell _ them. We were there, too, with you and Cole."

There was so much hurt in his voice that she hadn't heard since they'd confronted his father together. "Dorian...."

"Tell me you'll come."

"You have know it would take a  _ while _ . It'd be on foot since I can't risk ship or caravan."

"And  _ you _ have to believe that you deserve  _ better _ than dying in the middle of nowhere, stranded and alone."

"The odds of me making the journey--"

"Confound the odds, Lavellan! As if you haven't accomplished the impossible several times over." Dorian's voice quieted. "I don't have the right, I know. No one has the right to ask anything else of you. I know you're tired, but. I'm selfish. And I want to see you again. I want you to stay alive."

It wasn't fair at all of him, putting that on her. At the same time, it pulled a smile from her. It felt like the old Inquisition days. "I think you're overestimating how much control I have over that."

"We have a plan."

Lavellan's breath stopped. Before she could process that, Dorian continued quickly.

"Alright, that was an oversell," he admitted. "But we're pulling together, moving forward to one. All you have to do is stay alive to the end of it. We're going to--"

"Wait. Don't tell me." Lavellan's mind was a flurry of thoughts, concepts, long-shots. Possibilities. More than the same dead-end she'd been ramming her head into. "Don't tell me anything. If this is going to be a thing, we can't risk any of it transmuting in the Fade."

"The Fade...?" Dorian asked, voice hedged with wariness. "Solas, then."

"...Yeah. Solas."

"He's been contacting you?"

"Not really. He mostly just...watches me." Only after having it said aloud did Lavellan actually realize how weird it sounded.

Dorian clicked his tongue. He sounded sour when he chose to speak again. "You know, my opinion of him has already been abyssmally low as of late, and he does little to improve it."

"Dorian, back to me traveling--"

"Alright,  _ fine _ . I'll stop before I disparage your bastard ex."

When she laughed, it was a terrible snorting noise. She tried to stop it, but that only made it worse.

"Or not," Dorian chuckled along, finally sounding closer to his usual self. "Does this mean I've successfully managed to convince you? That was the first part of the plan, I'll have you know. Shouldn't count as spoilers for Solas if it's already a done deal. He can't curtail what's already been accomplished."

"About that."

"Oh, must you?" Dorian groaned. "Can't just let me have this, can you?"

"I'm doing you one better," Lavellan said. "Will you trust me?"

Dorian sucked in a breath. "You have a plan of your own. Don't you? You-- you little--" Dorian's voice had taken a whole new note-- a brilliance, almost.

"It's an  _ idea _ . And it's not even mine. It's...more like a  _ whisper _ ."

"Right. Of course. How could I have ever forgotten your ancient elven funny water voices?" She could practically see him waving his hand at the mounting ridiculousness of the phrase. "Please tell me it has everything to do with keeping you alive somehow."

"I'm hoping so. If not, then at least there's the lesson of not drinking the water at lost temples."

"And, what, I don't get to hear any details of your last-ditch effort for longevity?"

"Nope. It's only fair. I don't get to hear your plans, and you don't get to hear mine." In reality, she just didn't want to get his hopes up. Just in case the worst happened, because it always did. Her immediate priority was making it through each day. Anything past that felt beyond her reach.

"So this is what we do now, witholding secrets from each other," Dorian scoffed. "Alright. I'll mind my own business. For now."

"And, also, Dorian...if it turns out I don't make it...."

"It doesn't matter. Do whatever it is you need to do, and we'll be doing what we need to. Until I hear official word that--" Dorian cut himself off. He cleared his throat. "Until then. I'll be expecting you."

When Cole returned, he brought back a pheasant small enough to cook quickly. Both he and Dorian needled her that evening, until she'd finished all of it.

  
  


The wolf kept itself at bay, moving farther no matter how fast she ran to keep up. She would turn corners she'd thought she'd saw a tail or a head disappear behind, only to find nothing, only to find him somewhere else. She shouted for him, as she always did, but if he heard, he didn't show it, as he never did.

She chased, endlessly. She reached, continuously. Through miles, through hours. Through old memories and wishes. Through tendrils of foggy wisps and eluvians. Smoke and mirrors. The Fade had jokes.

She obtained nothing.

She reached nothing.

She received nothing.

She beheld nothing.

When she awoke, she was in pain.


	4. Upon Stacks

Come their next departure, Cole again attempted to take upon himself the heavier of their baggage. But Lavellan stubbornly beat him to the punch, shouldering the larger of the two sacks when Cole had turned around to bury their fire pit. He said nothing.

When she glimpsed his face, he only watched the way ahead of them as they walked. Eyes gazing quietly, mouth a flat line-- his expression for the most part only conveyed his standard unreadable far-awayness, and gave away naught else.

But if she didn't know any better, she'd be convinced that he looked all too pleased with himself.

So once she got a chance-- a break at Cole's insistence although she knew he didn't need it-- she went to lift the smaller bag. Just to see.

...She had trouble lifting it.

Cole had been the one who'd consolidated their things. The sack she carried was physically larger, but possessed all the light items. The bag Cole carried was more compact, but had all of the heavier items. She'd been tricked.

Lavellan didn't bother to look at Cole anymore to somehow get the feeling he was very much amused by all this. Plus, she felt too embarrassed about it to show in any way that she'd discovered the truth.

  
  
  
  


As they walked on, Lavellan realized she knew these descending paths somehow. They looked oddly familiar.

How low they were in the valley, the shape of the surrounding mountains that framed the horizon, down to the shape of the tree boundary formed along the road. She felt like she was turning herself in circles, trying to figure it out, why it all felt so sentimental. Then, it struck her.

_"It will always be important to you."_

Lavellan flinched as the Anchor twinged. She grasped her arm, pressing her lips together as she waited for it to pass. Even this was nostalgic, in these parts.

They were near Haven. Or more like, what was left of it.

Cole had only made it half a step more, before he stopped to look at her. She shook her head at a question he didn't voice aloud. No, she didn't need to stop. They didn't need to stop. She'd been doing so well so far. And...they were near Haven.

She forced herself to continue. Admittedly, she did want to scope the area, see what it had become. The last she remembered, it had been buried in snow.

Actually the last she remembered of it...there were underground tunnels.

Likely, nondescript enough to discourage company. Barren enough to be devoid of it in the first place.

Perhaps, if the tunnels were stable...she could take shelter there. Stay there. Not worry about hurting anyone, or bothering them with her mad screaming when the pain got to be too much. And when her time came, the explosion would cause the tunnels to collapse around her. No one would even have to bother with a burial then.

"You don't have to do that," Cole told her.

"Then tell me what I have to do," was Lavellan's terse reply.

She knew he'd have an answer, but she didn't want to hear it. Likely, it would be more of the same vague, convoluted, jigsaw talk. And when it wasn't-- whenever she was actually able to grasp the meanings between his words-- it was rarely pleasant. She trudged on quicker, biting her lip as the Anchor sparked and spit.

What would still be left? They'd have left in a hurry.

Solas had beaten them to Skyhold after the fight with Corypheus, to gather his things, clear his desk of clues. And, of course, to add one last addition to the wall murals. A piece that only served to mock her the more she stared at it in the years that followed.

"It wasn't to mock," Cole protested.

Lavellan walked faster, clutching her arm as it flickered. Cole kept up with her, but thankfully decided against saying anything more.

Her thoughts drifted back to Haven, particularly to the shack Solas had stayed in. They had cleared the town in a chaotic hurry. Solas had been at her side as she combed the area for stragglers. He couldn't have had any time to gather his belongings from his shack, would he? If she was somehow able to go through it now, would she be able to find anything? Clues, of what he'd been up to, of what he would do? Hints of who he was?

Hints of what he thought of her?

Wait. She was hearing something.

Some kind of thudding sound...! Lavellan realized the thrashing of the brush nearby too late.

She and Cole lurched backwards in surprise as a form came crashing from the trees, sending snow flying around them as it careened to a stop. Cole had his hands on his blade hilts, while Lavellan's own hand went to her sword.

A wolf?

Her heart stopped as an image flew through her mind, of dark fur and red eyes.

But, no. This one was too stocky. Its coat was too trim. It was...some type of dog? Lavellan squinted her eyes at the fur pattern as it sniffed frantically at the ground. It halted, then looked up right at her just as she began to place her recognition.

Then, it was bounding wildly towards her, barking. And Lavellan's heart leapt.

"PUP!" Lavellan shouted, reaching out.

By that point, the mabari was already bowling her over, and she found herself half-buried in snow and half-buried under his crushing weight. The suddenness of it all, having the wind knocked from her, the surprise chance of having run into him in the middle of the mountains, of being licked smelly and wet by a slobbering dog tongue-- had her near hysterical, laughing beneath the onslaught of his kisses.

"...here! Maker's breath. _Here_ , I say!" a voice she knew rang out. Snow crunched as footfall neared them. "I'm so sorry, he doesn't bite, he's just a bit _too_ friendly--"

She had pushed Pup only just enough off of her to be able to sit up in time to see a her once-Commander arrive on the scene. His eyes met hers and widened.

"Inquisi-- _Lavellan_ ," Cullen said breathlessly, looking stunned even as he corrected himself.

"Cullen," she got around to greet, past the mabari who hadn't yet paused from lapping at her face.

As if noticing even that small break of her attention, Pup bumped his nose to her face, licking even more aggressively and startling another peal of laughter from her.

"Oh, and it's...it's Cole, isn't it?" She heard Cullen address politely somewhere past the dog mouth.

"You remember, see?" She at least managed to catch Cole's smile as he nodded to Cullen.

Cullen sighed, an old, known sound that tripped her memories of his office upon the battlements, of a large map with a table, of her arguing her way and maybe being more of a thorn in his side than she had to be, of him meeting her gaze because he was precisely aware of what she was up to and that she'd better stop or else, even though that 'else' was an empty threat and they both knew it.

"Well, that explains why he bolted off so suddenly," he said in that exasperated voice that only beckoned more needling.

He had always been fun to test, and he for some reason had always displayed an unsual amount of calm even when she knew she was being an outright brat. Leliana and Josephine would hide their snickers behind their hands whenever they caught him letting her get away with more than most.

Instead, there was Pup, with his gross and smelly mouth, insisting on claiming all of her regard.

Lavellan couldn't help but giggle some more under her breath. "I see training didn't take."

"Training took very well, I assure you. Normally he behaves much better than this. I think he's just excited to see you." He paused a moment, and noticeably shifted his weight between his feet before he admitted, "He's not the only one."

"He's just fine." She shot Cullen a smirk over Pup's hide. "You, though, tone it down a bit. You're embarassing yourself."

Cullen scoffed incredulously. "Alright, that's it, dog privileges revoked."

Pup barked in defiance. But at the look Cullen gave him, he whined and slowly backed away from Lavellan.

"Good job, you made him sad," she quipped, even though she was somewhat glad to stand up again.

Cullen now directed the same look towards her. "I take it back."

"Revoking my dog privileges?"

Pup's ears perked hopefully.

"No." Again, he shot a pointed look at Pup before returning it to Lavellan. "That he wasn't the only one who missed you."

Lavellan just grinned.

"So many words, and yet so much more in not so many words," Cole murmured. "Why? Now is the best time--"

"Right," Cullen spoke over him, and finally turned the look on Cole. "I had forgotten of this particular...talent of yours."

"Odd. I meant it when I had told everyone they would remember me. That should have included my talent. Although, it's not really a talent. But it's very kind of you to call it such."

"...Yes. Well."

There were many people who didn't enjoy Cole's insights. Now she was recalling Cullen was one of them.

"What are you two even doing out here?" Lavellan remembered to ask, to change the subject. She smiled as Pup pushed his face into her hands, despite his owner's earlier command.

"You've heard I've started a rehabilitation sanctuary?" Cullen prompted. "For former templars."

"What about it?"

"I expect you've also heard of the deed for land Divine Vic-- _Leliana_ had granted me for the endeavor?"

"I'd heard it was somewhere in Ferelden." Lavellan blinked as it sunk in. "Wait. Is _Haven_ the land?"

He took some amusement in her surprise. "I had passed through here on my way to visit my family after the Inquisition's disbandment. The snow had melted away at some point during the passing of warmer months. The buildings were in shambles, but the land was habitable again."

"And the former townsfolk had nothing to say?" She frowned.

But Cullen's amusement seemed to deepen. "When I posed my idea for the sanctuary to Leliana, I of course wrote of the state of Haven with the expectation that she'd forward the news to them." He smiled. "Apparently the lot of them are happy at Skyhold. Most didn't bother responding."

It did make sense now that she thought about it. "What happened here could happen again, whereas Skyhold is a fortress that can withstand attack. It's safer to settle there. Plus, it would be a pain to pick up their lives and relocate a second time."

Cullen nodded along as if only humoring the notion, and then he told her, "I think it has more to do with specific personnel found there."

She considered. "Sure. We picked up some good company over the years."

But Cullen was still giving her a sort of raised brow, implying she was still a few paces shy of the point.

"It's enough," Cole said then. "She's happy that they're happy."

Lavellan wondered then if Cole must have been glad to hear the land had been reclaimed, and her idea of holing up and waiting for her fuse to run its course was now definitely not happening. He must have known exactly what she was thinking, because his eyes flitted to her then.

"Well, at any rate, I've decided on the name New Haven for the place," Cullen spoke. "I'd love to show you the progress we've made."

She froze. Suddenly remembering everything in a rush, her hand went to her marked arm, grasping the throb there. She took half a step backward with her left foot, angling the danger away from them, and was within an inch of simply bolting away at first opportunity.

Cole was frowning at her. Pup inclined his head, noticing her shift in demeanor.

Cullen, who had been scratching behind Pup's ears, didn't notice until he looked up and saw her stance.

"Lavellan, I'm aware of the risks." Cullen held his gaze steady, careful. "I'm still offering. Insisting, in fact."

Of course. If word reached Dorian all the way in Tevinter, it certainly would have reached Cullen in the same Frostbacks as Skyhold crested.

She wondered how progress with their alleged plan was going, what task Cullen had taken up for his involvement. Now that she thought about it, Dorian hadn't contacted her yet today.

"Listen, there's a shack off the far side of the town," Cullen stated. "It's out of the way, and mostly used for storage. I can put you up in there. It would be no trouble."

"We need food," Cole said.

Lavellan balked at him. "I keep telling you we still have rations from Skyhold."

"You hate them."

"I don't hate them--" But her face was reddening from being outed like that.

To make it worse, Cullen started laughing. "You _do_ hate them. Every late winter we had to ensure you didn't inadvertantly starve yourself."

"You did not."

"It would have been a simple thing to hunt if you liked meats for more than two consecutive meals, but no. Nothing but fresh, supple produce for our lady Inquisitor. Josephine was constantly factoring in imports far exceeding the budgets, as I recall. I don't understand how you survived being Dalish what with how much you dislike preserved foods."

Lavellan clamped her mouth shut, glaring and embarrassed, and morbidly glad no one in her clan could chime in at that point. They would have told stories of her pickiness, too.

"We must marry you off to a farmer, da'len," they used to tease, exasperated as they took turns to watch her through meals when none of her preferred food were available.

She made a mental note to ask Dorian and confirm with him if her eating habits were so easily noted. How did this topic even get brought up again?

Right. _Cole_.

He looked over at her then, sensing her frustration, but looked nothing like he possessed any apology for it.

Pup broke through her thoughts with a couple insistent barks. He pawed at the dirt, wagging his tail as he stared up at her. Lavellan felt her resolve crumble, just a bit.

She supposed the Anchor didn't hurt that badly at the moment. And she could still run the moment it did. Cole would help her.

"I would," he affirmed aloud.

Cullen glanced over at him, lost, before turning back to Lavellan. "Have you made up your mind?"

"Are my dog privileges still revoked?" Lavellan asked.

Cullen scoffed, but the grin on his face showed triumph as he turned his heel to lead the way. "Alright, fine. I take that back as well. Come on then. I actually do need to return."

Pup began barking, jumping up and clacking his teeth excitedly as he trotted by his owner's side. Lavellan allowed them some distance of a headstart before tentatively following after.

Cole had stayed at her side.

He watched the mabari and Cullen ahead. "Heart bursting warm and cool, shocked and steadied. She's here, she's here, she's here."

Lavellan couldn't help but smile past her weariness. "Sounds like Pup, alright."

Cole said, "It's not."

She stared at him, confused.

But before she could form a question, Pup was racing back to her jumping and nipping at the air around her for attention. By the time she was patting the bulk of his body and bunching her fingers in his loose furry hide, she'd forgotten all about it.

  
  
  
  
  


She knew this shack. She had come here to track down some notes for Adan.

That...felt like an entirely different lifetime.

She remembered trudging through the snow, wondering if she'd been going the right direction, before she finally spotted it in the outskirts of the village. That was good. She would be alone out here, and the surrounding boulders would do well to contain any Anchor discharge.

Whatever damages the shack had suffered during the attack or the avalanche, Cullen or whoever had done fine work patching it up good as new.

He'd gone in ahead of her, and she could hear him grunting as something heavy was dragged across the floorboards. Pup was with him, barking encouragement. But before she could join them, she noticed Cole stepping not to the lone cottage, but toward the young settlement of New Haven.

Even from where they were at, she could see rooftops risen over the crests of snowy hills and boulders. She could hear the faraway sound of louder voices of the people, barely carrying to where they stood.

Her arm had begun hurting steadily now. A bad sign. All the better that she stayed here, tucked away and isolated where the Anchor could only reach her.

"Need like needles nettling, piercing and dark as the coldest gusts that douse to the bones," Cole murmured upon her approach. "It hurts and it hinders, and it's not even there. It was the problem when it was, and it's the problem now that it's gone. It lingers, having already been loosed. It never belonged, but it leaves longing in the lost."

He seemed restless. Torn.

Oh.

"Go ahead," Lavellan said. "I'm sure a lot of people here could use your help."

She had luckily caught her lyrium addiction early on-- Cullen had helped. He'd been the one to confront her about it, actually, before she'd even realized she was addicted. Once Corypheus was defeated, he took her aside and said there was no more dire need of the lyrium-given abilities she'd undertaken. And he was there with her every day that she staved off the impulse to reach for the draught. It was why when he told her of his idea to set up a rehabilitation sanctuary, she knew he'd do it justice.

Her small dip into that ever-mounting need had been hard enough to withstand. She could only imagine how much worse it was on those who'd fed on it for years, nay decades, longer.

"It's the same still," he said whispered to her. "A different need, but a need all the same."

Lavellan's throat tightened. _That_ was another thing entirely. She didn't want to talk about it. Reflexively, her hand went to cradle the pain of her other arm. Cole turned to her.

She shook her head at him. "I'll be fine. I'm not going to be doing much here."

"I won't be long," he promised, in a weirdly assuring way that made her irritated.

She knew he'd be back. Why would she worry about something like that? She wasn't going to break without him. She could look after herself.

Cole probably sensed her mood, because he took another moment just staring at her. She stared defiantly back, lifting her chin belligerently, daring him to say anything else. But then, he'd vanished, and she was left blinking at the wooded brush in the distance. A breeze moved through the space Cole had left behind, and Lavellan was tempted to follow it into town.

She had never considered herself all that friendly. But after years of walking into various communities and making it a point to strike conversation with just about anyone for any reason in the name of the Inquisition, the habit had stuck. It pulled at her now.

And still, the Anchor held her back. Tendrils of it crawled under the skin of her arm, gnawing pain into a steady hedging of her awareness.

She...had to remember those days were long behind her.

Pup began barking, several in succession before she looked up. He was standing in the threshold of the shack, tongue lolling as he sprung into playful impatience. Then, he barked some more.

"Yeah, yeah," she said with a smile, making her way over. He met her halfway, leaning his weight into her like he wanted her to hurry up. She pet him with a tousel, tugging at his ears and dog lips, and making him snort at her. "Mutt."

When she entered the hut, Cullen had broken a sweat. She found him leaning against one of the walls, adjacent to a bed by the window. Even with the piles of assorted chests and crates pushed aside, there was only just enough to room to walk.

"As I said, it's mostly storage," Cullen said. He was panting slightly, but his smile showed triumph. "But you're welcome to it for as long as you need."

"I'll be short with it," she assured him.

And then she had to turn away quickly to hide her grimace as the Anchor rung an ache through her arm. She wasn't sure if she'd hid it fast enough, even as she attempted to mask the gesture by unclasping her sword belt. But Cullen had fallen quiet enough, which suited her fine.

She continued avoiding his gaze as she made her way toward the open mattress, doing her best to not sink too heavily upon it and give herself away. The cushion felt nice underneath her, and the thought made her scowl. Since when had she gotten so dainty?

Pup, noticing her sudden subduence, made a questioning whine. He nudged his wet nose into her palm, and she petted him briefly before the Anchor had her clutching her arm again.

Cullen only observed pensively. Then, he finally spoke.

"Have you stayed off?"

It took a moment before she knew what he was talking about.

"Why would I even get back on?" she shot back, a bit defensively.

She hadn't even thought about getting back on lyrium. There were other, much more pressing concerns she'd had her mind on than fulfilling an old fix. What did he think of her, to jump to that assumption?

Cullen had been with her, was there to watch when she quit and suffered the withdrawal. How could he think she'd go back after all that? Or was his opinion so low of her?

"I just figured, after what had all happened, you might...." Cullen trailed off, gesturing lamely with his hand.

"Well, I _didn't_." Lavellan's voice had come out sharper than she thought it might, but then again, she was annoyed at this point.

Cullen frowned. "I ask only out of concern."

"I've been in too much pain to think about combat," she insisted.

"Then you haven't been training at all?" He made a small groan in his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All this and you still insist on traveling?"

That _would_ be what he would focus on. "Cole and I sparred just yesterday. You have nothing to worry about."

"That would be far from the end of my worries," Cullen told her dryly, and he was staring at the Anchor again.

"So get a hobby," Lavellan snapped, shifting her body so that arm was hidden from him. It sent a pinch up her nerves, and she flinched, but she recovered quickly. "Is that why you questioned if I was off? Would you prefer if I _was_ still on the draught?"

Pup had plopped into a sit, turning his wide eyes from Lavellan to Cullen, agitated at the change in mood.

Cullen had the nerve to looked shocked. "Lavellan--"

"Are you that eager to keep me? Add me to your rehab roster?" she went on, driven further now that fury had latched. "You have this hut you can put me in, you have better rations than Skyhold, you can keep me off lyrium even though I _never_ got back on--"

"And it would be so terrible to have you stay?" Cullen countered, and his voice had an edge to it now. "To have you be safe? Why must you argue everything to the death?"

" _Safe_? You just want me to do what you want!" That was all she ever did, whatever other people wanted her to do. Then, whenever she did something for herself, it was always somehow the wrong choice.

Cullen's mouth opened, but before he could say anything, he shut it again. He was scowling when he spoke again. "It must have been too much to expect you'd mature at all."

"The joke's on _you_ for having worked for me," Lavellan muttered.

"As an _advisor_. Elsewise, it's clear how many misguided decisions would have run the Inquisition into the ground."

"That's some regret considering how many decisions were dumped into my lap anyway!" She couldn't be sure if the surge that enflamed her at that moment was from the Anchor or from rage. She wasn't thinking about it. "Or is it just regret that you can't micromanage me the way you used to?"

Lavellan was vaguely aware of Pup whining softly from his spot on the floor. But she refused to break her glare from Cullen for even a second, refused to show any give or weakness.

Cullen gazed right back, brows furrowed. He inhaled. Exhaled. Then, softly, "You think I don't know what you're doing? Or why you do this?"

She didn't care. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters plenty when you insist on making battles for yourself where there are _none_! You have enough to deal with, and still you only opt for more difficulty."

"And here you are, advising me, like the good old days? I don't know if you remember, but my poor decisions didn't stop anyone from propping me up on a throne."

"You were a _child_ upon that throne."

"Sure, even better that I was tasked with judgment."

Cullen was no longer languidly leaning back, but wholly engaged with his stance speaking volumes of what chance there was of him backing down. From where she sat, Lavellan did her best to show that she, neither, was to be cowed. It gave her a backwards glimpse to their back-and-forths across the war table, and the thought might have made her smile if not for the timing.

"Josephine put you up to it not only for convenient appearances, but because she knew you had yet to grow true cruelty in your heart," Cullen informed her in a clipped tone. "Yes, you were very eager to ask about executions, but when it came down to it? Making a duchess a jester? Condemning a man into servitude to repay dues? The laughable 'punishment' you served to Rainier?"

"I also _beheaded_ someone, remember?"

"And it _traumatized_ you. You don't think anyone noticed how quiet you were for the rest of the day? Or did you not even suspect the timing of everyone agreeing to gather for a game of Wicked Grace?"

 _That_ was new information. Lavellan found herself, remembering vividly how relieved she'd been when Varric had approached her about the game. She'd just washed the blood from her hands, still unfocused from the adrenaline that coursed through her, that she'd welcomed the distraction. She really hadn't assumed anything amiss at all.

Cullen took advantage of her silence. "If you actually think yourself grown at all from then, I might as well inform you that your rise to a leadership rank was, like most things were, a political move to strengthen the Inquisition."

At this, Lavellan found herself glaring at him. As if she didn't understand what a figurehead leader was. As if she was ignorant of politics. As if she hadn't noticed they were sending her to play fetch for the most mundane jobs, just to put her in the sight of the people.

A Dalish elf, performing the work of Andraste.... It was all bullshit; everyone who had more than a shred of desperate belief could figure out that much. It had been made all the more obvious when Cullen had mentioned morale improvement straight after. Before she could voice any retort, Cullen had begun speaking again.

"You lack the mind for the long-game that the rest of us set up as your advisors, as your _elders_. You only know how to kill something in the moment that they are attempting to kill you, and even that ability is questionable at this point."

Her mouth went dry.

She recalled that, all too clearly. The brush of Solas's eyelashes on her skin. Being close again, finally, after so long. And when the gap between them had closed, she'd just hoped. Hoped that he would stay. That she could convince him with a kiss. That he might change his mind after all.

But he only left her.

And then, everyone had asked her over and over, what happened, what do you mean he just left, what were you doing, there must have been some way to apprehend him.... And she could only feel like an idiot.

"Now you're choosing to slink away, trying to find a good place to die," Cullen stated, voice low and terse as he stared her down. "Lavellan, that's what _animals_ do."

"Then I'll die like a fucking animal!" she exclaimed, enraged. The Anchor pulsed along with the sound of her heart in her eardrums, but she ignored it in favor of the catharsis that came to her now. "That's all I am, in the end. I was caught, tagged, and released, and every once in a while he _studies_ me because I suppose I'm just so fucking _fascinating_ . It doesn't matter. None of it mattered. I was _nothing_."

She hissed as her arm pierced at her. And again, she found herself staring at anything except Cullen. She wished he would take the hint and leave already, before any of her welled tears started falling. Pup was nudging at her stomach, pressing his body up against her legs, but she didn't dare do anything but grit her teeth and study the floor.

If Cullen had meant to say anything, he decided against it. He was walking away from her now, and Lavellan thought it hadn't happened soon enough.

He only paused at the threshold, at which point, he asked one more thing. "Why does his opinion still matter to you?"

"You can't reason with an animal, Cullen," she said.

She only relaxed when she heard the door shut behind both him and Pup.

  
  
  
  


The candles and low-lit sconces cast an array of flickering warmth and shadowed angles across his features.

He might have been seen as detached and even a bit bored to an outsider, typical of anyone caught perusing a sprawl of heavy tomes and composing piles of written document.

But Lavellan saw the frenetic spark in his eyes as they skimmed and devoured every morsel of information-- the quick and focused movements of his hands as they turned pages, filed through parchment, and flourished his handwriting in quick, elegant script across the span of each sheet-- the way his lips pressed together as he concentrated. She saw _him_.

She found him in the rotunda, like always, leaned over his desk in study.

For all the secrets he'd kept, Solas had situated himself in a place that saw a reasonable amount of foot traffic throughout the day. It had made it an easy thing, for her to find any excuse to pass by, just to see him, to be around him. It was another story, however, to get his attention, or to hold his attention.

Still, she couldn't help but smile, being with him now.

Able to be so close, not chasing, for once. Seeing him as himself, rather than as a wolf.

Then, it sunk in.

"Solas?" she asked, barely loud as a whisper.

If he heard, he showed no sign. Her only response was the scrawl of quill on paper.

But, it was then she noticed his clothing. He was garbed in more regalia, this time with a theme of deep blues trimmed with gold, and beige as a offset, that flowed off his form at the blouse and tucked in fitted at his trousers.

They weren't in Skyhold. The illusion around her faded to a vague, grey murk. Solas's desk was no longer the rough-grained table from the rotunda, but a finished wood, that elluded Lavellan to name beyond 'really nice'.

Still, she spoke. "Solas?"

It took a moment, but he looked up at her, and her heart might have stopped. She felt her mouth dry, holding his stare. She remembered, how his gaze used to soften for her. How his eyes would make her melt.

They didn't do that now.

Solas was speaking, something in...what must have been ancient elven. But it sounded bogged down and distant-- as if they were underwater. Then he was walking towards her.

Lavellan reached. "Sola--"

He went through her.

She evanesced around him like vapor, coming back together with a startled gasp once he'd passed. She grasped her torso, stunned to find it solid and whole. When she whirled around, Solas had just kept on walking. Sardonically, Lavellan thought that despite the weirdness of it, this felt all too familiar.

She chased after him.

"Solas!" she shouted, timidity gone now.

He kept on.

" _Hey_! Banal'vhenan! Ma fen'ulnil!"

Lavellan vigorously waved her hand in his face. But he didn't react in the slightest, looking ahead and not breaking his stride. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't there at all. That, too, felt all too familiar.

She followed him.

The Fade remained blank, giving nothing of either of them. There were times the Fade only delivered obscure imagery, but that was mostly due to Solas, so careful about letting none of his mind leak anything she could interpret his schemes from. And even then, there would still be something forming in the wisps and shadows of it. She didn't understand much about the ways of magic, but she knew enough to suspect this wasn't a normal dream.

Even within her broad fittings of 'normal'.

If she focused, she could hear the reveration of his footsteps, like they were walking through a cooridor. Solas took an abritrary turn, and she went with him. She missed the slight lift of his steps, and ended up tripping over what felt like something raised in the blank space. She stumbled, looking, but there was nothing still.

Solas had stopped. He had a hand raised. He was speaking, again in that same drowned muffle. She went to stand beside him, squinted in the distance to see who he was addressing. But nothing formed for her.

So she stood, listening to the familiar notes of his voice. Watching the expression on his face. Authorative, calm. He used to speak to her like that.

Try to, anyway. If he took that tone ever, it was usually because she wasn't listening to whatever he was warning her about. The memory made her snicker.

The memory made her eyes sting with tears.

How stupid was it, that even this made her happy? Just to be at his side again.

How stupid was it, that she still was not over him? After years, the loss of her arm, and the promise to ruin her world. After he had ruined her world, in a way already. All she had left of her clan was her name, after he'd removed her vallaslin. All she had left of the Inquisition was a memory, after he'd already proven it could be corrupted. All she had left of a life was debilitating pain and bad memories, after he'd fulfilled his use of her.

How _stupid_ was it, that she'd give anything to have him kiss her again? That she wanted to hold him, and be held. And sit on his desk and watch him paint. And ignore that she was an insignificant spec in his life.

She realized then how young she must seem to him. And suddenly, Cullen's words rang in her mind. If he saw her as so immature, how could she blame Solas for barely being able to see her as a person?

How stupid.... That she wanted to marry him like he wasn't the fucking Dread Wolf. She wanted to travel the country with him again. She wanted to be the love of his life, the only person he ever loved even in his thousands and thousands of years. She wanted to tease him, and see him disapprove. So unaware. So selfish. So naive. A little fool. A child. Just like Cullen said.

Despite all that, she wanted him. If she knew anything in the world to be true, it was that she still loved him.

And it was unrealistic. And self-centered. And dumb. And childish. And--

And she didn't _care_.

She reached out with her left hand and took his.

Solas abruptly stopped talking.

He looking at her, mouth hanging uncharacterically open, as if she were a ghost.

"...Ellana?"

Lavellan blinked at him. The feeling of holding his hand disappeared. She had no left hand. What was happening?

There was floor beneath her feet. Polished stone, draped with ornate rugs, dipping down into several steps. They were on some sort of raised platform. Murmurs began to rise around her-- ancient elven. She could make out forms from a ways off-- shapes steadily morphing into detail. She was surrounded. She was weaponless.

Reflexively, she turned to Solas.

And found him shifted. Expression unreadable. Eyes coolly set upon her.

Fen'Harel.

Lavellan stepped back. Again. He would choose his People over her again. Because of course he would. He always has. Frustration burned in her throat, making her vision blur with the threat of tears.

She saw his eyes flicker silver, and braced herself. She was done with it all, anyway. She didn't care anymore.

"Banal'vhenan," she ground out through her teeth.

Suddenly, there was a sensation like she being yanked backward by her navel. Everything around her rapidly shrank against bright green, with the last to disappear being Solas's look of astonishment. The feeling whisked her away, plucked from the scene, pushed and pulled all at once and sent her away spiraling.

  
  
  
  


When she finally landed, she was basked in flashing lights and her arm was splitting with agony.

Lavellan was out of breath, vision blacking out, before she realized she was screaming. Magic force whipped around her, splintering bends into the wood of the walls. She twisted, rolling onto her side in the throes of it, just as the Anchor burst. The beam that departed blew through the ceiling.

The sight of sky roused forth the recall of another ceiling, a different gap in the roof's scaffold. A warmer place.

And then, she remembered everything else. Cramming the pain aside, Lavellan heaved herself from the bed and immediately made for the door.

 _Not here_ , she thought. _Not now._

She'd barely managed to open the door before another surge of pain sent her collapsing into the snow with a howl.

"Lavellan--" Cole was there.

She shoved him away roughly. "Get _back_!"

The Anchor roared to life and she screamed as it blasted into the boulder beside them, blowing the snow clear off and grinding the stone to gravel in a jagged line as she swung from the push-back. A corner of the roof was clipped by the tapered beam as she fell.

"Wait," Cole pleaded. "Try to calm down."

She heaved herself back up immediately, as soon as she could force herself, and bolted. She needed to go. Anywhere. _Far_. Her arm crackled, senting out lashes of green that whipped at her, clipped her hair. She tried to grasp her arm, but it snapped at her hand and she yelped at the shock of the bite.

It burst again, knocking her sideways. Even blindly, consumed by pain, she tried crawling, scrambling against the snow.

 _Is this it?_ she wondered, dumb from it all.

The Anchor tore through her, and she screamed with her face pushed into the ground. The magic that spilled ripped across the landscape, sending snow flying up in a jagged line that began with her and ended somewhere frighteningly far off. The uplifted snow was still falling when she looked up.

Good, it had been in the opposite direction of the village.

Another look around and she was able to confirm Cole had gone from her. Some surprise came of this revelation, some hurt. But overall, she was relieved.

The Anchor sent an angry shock and she flinched, but this one was at least more manageable than the last. She picked herself up and ran.

She passed the first, scattered stretch of trees before she buckled again. The pain felt like it was fluid, like it was squirming throughout her, twisting through her limbs and making them spasm. Green tore from her arm like it her spirit was already madly thrashing for escape from her body, if only for some reprieve. Lavellan pulled herself along the ground with her other arm, worming along pathetically, but persistently.

She would keep trying.

As long as she could try.

As far as she could get.

Creators, but did it _hurt_.

Again, she wondered, heart hammering from more than just the brutal physicality of the event, _Is this it?_

"Lavellan!"

Lavellan was blinking tears from her eyes, focus back to her vision, as panic seized her. She saw Cullen, racing dangerously closer toward her, Cole at his heels.

_No._

"NO!" she screamed at him, voice going shrill and raw as the Anchor sent a cut of snow blasting behind her. She just barely curtailed it in time, for the green whip last to miss Cullen by mere inches. "GET AWAY."

She was consumed in it, thrown around by the Anchor's whim and sent sprawling and gasping in a writhing circle.

"Cole, get him _out_ of here," she wheezed once she could speak.

"You need help," Cole told her. " _Please_."

"I said _no_!"

Her left arm flung out wildly and she bent into herself, sobbing and shaking from the pain. She didn't want to die. She _wanted_ to die. She wanted Solas's arms around her one last time. She wanted Cole and Cullen far away and safe from her. She wanted to be back in a simpler time when every moment, she wasn't hyperaware of what it felt like to have every nerve in her lit up with _fire_.

"No," she moaned. "Just...just go...."

"Please," Cole just repeated. "Please."

Then, somewhere beyond the pain and the noise, she heard Cullen say curtly, "That's enough."

Lavellan heard the crunch of footfall on snow. She looked up and saw Cullen approaching. She tried to vault herself backward, but the Anchor folded her strength once more, made her vision dot with color.

"Cullen," she panted, making a final effort to pull back from him, but he was already scooping her against him.

She let out a clipped, hoarse cry against his chest as the Anchor discharged again, shoving her into him. But with Cullen fast against her, they were only slightly jostled from the recoil.

"Stop this," she said, and would never admit that at this point, she was begging him. "You were right. I'm a child. I'm an animal."

"I'm terrified," Cole said then, and she desperately wanted him to stop. "I don't know what to do. Everything _hurts_."

"I'm here, Lavellan," Cullen said softly. He had one arm supporting her back, helping to brace against the Anchor, and his other hand slid between them to grab hers. "I'm staying."

"Cullen, do not be _stupid_ \--" Before she could argue more, the Anchor tore through her, and she could only wail.

"But he could die," Cole continued. "I don't want him to die. A smile so like the filtered sun patched through his broken roof. I don't want him to go."

"No, no," Lavellan whimpered, shuddering as the Anchor rocked violently within her. "We were fighting, we were yelling at each other--"

"That doesn't mean I'll abandon you!" Cullen interjected sharply, and she was stunned at the force of his voice. "I'm _with_ you, Lavellan. We've been over this before."

Cole began to ramble, "Dead of night, swimming in the tides of blankets, the pierce pins at so many points at once and then--"

Lavellan was screaming, drowning out the rest. The Anchor scattered blasts of green around them, blinding them with the shade. But she could hear the snow being thrown, the crack of the magic as it razed the ground, the trees being snapped at their trunks upon impact.

But she knew the memory anyway.

She remembered, without Cole prompting, the nights Cullen stayed at her bedside. After most everyone, save Josephine, had gone away, and she'd been left with the wretched itch of the shadows of lyrium that remained in her. He spoke to her, in that deepest of pitch darkness that fell and fed on the shadows of her temptation. Sat through the worst dead of nights as the need crawled around inside her. He untangled the sweated-through sheets from her legs, wiped her brow with a damp cloth. He held her hand. And he smiled at her. And he stayed.

...What she became aware of first was her own breathing, as her vision unblotted slowly and she could piece back together where they were.

Still, it all moved rather evasively.

The Anchor still throbbed, but had reduced back to only mere flashes and small snaps of magic.

Cole had gone silent. Cullen was blinking, relaxing his grip on her slightly before turning down to face her with a relieved sigh.

"It wasn't your time after all," he said.

Lavellan mustered a glare at him. "...wasn't...yours, either...."

She passed out just as he begun lifting her up from the snow.


	5. Ever-Forward

She was in Cullen's office when he found her.

Or, what once was Cullen's office. But the way she saw it, experienced it now-- it still was.

The bookshelf remained untouched. The candles burned bright on their stands-- he used to go through so many of them, from working long into the night or simply having forgotten to blow them out. Cullen's oak desk, as wide as it spanned, was still cluttered corner to corner with an assortment of paperwork. His mug was nearly done, likely to be emptied if given another moment.

The whole room felt like Cullen.

But when she turned around, it was Solas who appeared, taking her by the shoulders.

"How?" he demanded.

Lavellan stared dumbly, taken aback. Close. So close. She could see all the small details of his face, that she only ever saw when they kissed. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her shirt. This was what she'd wanted....

" _ How _ ?" he repeated, sharper.

Suddenly, she was aware that his grip was actually uncomfortable. It snapped her back into thinking mode, and she was able to recall what had him so wound up. Because of  _ course _ he wasn't just here to see her. She shoved his arms off of her.

"I don't know!"

"That is hardly possible," Solas pressed, not giving up any ground. He didn't reach for her again. "Though...admittedly not unlike most matters when it comes to you."

" _ And _ like most matters, it's  _ your _ fault!" she exclaimed, irritated. "The Anchor's still here, it's  _ still _ doing weird shit, and it's still killing me!  _ I _ should be the one demanding an explanation! About more than just this thing that's in my arm that's only here because of you. About...."

Her voice broke, and she turned away just time to to hide her face as the tears began to fall. Not so subtly, she quickly wiped at them.

"Do you...have any theories?" she asked gruffly.

Because she actually did want to know what had happened when they last saw each other. Had she actually appeared out of thin-air in front of him? Teleported or something? She really did not understand magic.

And. She could do with just listening to him talk. The way they used to.

But Solas only told her, "I.... No."

He sounded farther off.

Lavellan looked up, and was stricken with the view of his back as he was walking away.

"Solas," she said. But she already knew there was nothing she could say or do, even as he begun to fade. It was more out of anguish and desperation that she repeated herself. "SOLAS!"

But he had gone.

She pressed her palm to her eyes, trying to halt the tears that began running freely now, as if she could. Even as she began to sob.

_ Don't leave me.... _

  
  


She winced awake to the Anchor's pinch, blinking away a tear.

Cole was staring at her from the foot of her bed, crouched over her calves. It would have startled her, if she had any capacity left to react to such things. Or maybe she was just used to him at this point.

"You stayed here the whole time," he informed her.

Lavellan sat up gingerly, wiping her hand across her face. Her clothes were damp from the snow. Her armor was where she'd left it, before falling asleep the first time. There were blankets laid on top of her, that hadn't been before. The hole in the ceiling she distinctly remembered making, was now covered by some kind of canvas tarp.

The damaged walls were still roughly dented, but she supposed there wasn't much they could do about that.

Cole elaborated, "You were gone before. Where did you go? I couldn't find you. That's why...." His mouth twisted into a discouraged frown. "That's why I didn't hear you until it was too late."

She sighed, not knowing enough to even know how to start explaining. Allegedly, not even Solas knew.  _ And he knows everything _ , she thought bitterly. She pulled her legs up to her chest, mirroring Cole's pose as she returned his gaze, hoping he could poke around enough in her head that she didn't have to put any of it into words.

Cole gazed back, unblinking. And then, after a while, his head tilted slightly. A furrow appeared between his brows. But all he said was, "Hm."

The door opened then, yet Cole remained staring at her even though she looked away.

Pup bodied his way through the opening impatiently, throwing the door the rest of the way open with a slam. He was barking excitedly, bounding towards Lavellan's bed.

"Hey-- down!" Cullen yelled fruitlessly.

But Pup already had his front paws on Lavellan's mattress, licking frantically at her face while he still could. Lavellan couldn't help the laugh that escaped her, trying to welcome him with the same enthusiasm with pets and pats.

"Down, I said, you."

And then, Cullen was then, hauling Pup back to the floor. Pup barked at him reproachfully, but acquiesced to sit obediantly instead.

With Pup gone, Lavellan knew she had to address Cullen. As she wrestled with that discomfort, he moved, holding a platter of food to her lap.

"Here," he said. "I wasn't sure if you'd be awake yet, but I'd meant to bring this sooner anyway."

That got her to look up, despite her reticence. She expected to find anger. Maybe even repulsion. But she only found Cullen. He only jostled the plate slightly to cue her to take it. And she did.

"You didn't have to," Lavellan said, but he was already turning away.

He glanced at her over his shoulder and she could see his raised brow. "To be sure."

Lavellan had a feeling he was teasing her, but she couldn't be bothered to think about that for too long when she really saw the food on the plate. Cheese.  _ Cheese _ . Different shades of it. And grapes. Sliced apples. Bread to go with it all, but she hadn't had to go without bread for the last few months. And nut butter!

Winter made merchants journeys to Skyhold that much more hazardous, and by the time they'd crested the mountains, they'd usually have their stocks bared through passing other, more accessible communities on the way, resorting to consuming it themselves for survival, or losing it from accidents and conditions that came with the territory of navigating the Frostbacks. It made sense for Haven-- or,  _ New _ Haven, rather-- would be privy to these sorts of wares.

She was stuffing her mouth before she even knew it was open.

It was only after half the plate was gone-- devouring the first apple, chomping away some stems along with the grapes attached to them, half the bread loaf despite her earlier apathy, the  _ cheese _ , all the cheese-- that she remembered herself. And remembered Cullen, and what he'd done for her. Honestly, what he only continued to do.

She glanced over to where he'd perched on the corner of a nearby crate, helping himself to his own sole apple as he stared pensively at the floor. Some of the Inquisition troops hadn't called him 'Commander Sullen' for nothing, she knew.

But it could only really have been Cullen to still inspire their loyalty, as hard on them as he'd been.

As hard as he'd never been towards her.

Lavellan looked away furtively as he happened to glance up.

The food sat in her gut, and the weight of it only felt like guilt now. She'd almost killed him, hadn't she? And yet, here he was feeding her. Remaining by her. Putting her in a soft damned bed. Even after the row they'd had.

She should say thank you. She should say  _ sorry _ . That and...much more than that.

"Just say so," Cole coaxed. "It will be fine. He's not mad."

Lavellan shot him a dull glare. "You had permission before, but you need to stay out of my head now."

The warning somehow lost all edge as it was muffled by her mouthful of food. She put her hand in front of her mouth to chew it all.

"Though I'm loathe to admit it, that habit does seem to come in handy," Cullen remarked. "It was Cole who made clear what I needed to do, seeing as  _ someone _ doesn't use her words."

Lavellan flinched, feeling the direct hit on psyche like a physical blow. She thumbed at the grapes awkwardly. "So otherwise, you would have stayed away."

She was startled as Pup barked sharply at her in reproach. She blinked at him, surprised.

Cullen wasn't surprised at all. "Not very likely. I absolutely would have found you, what with the Anchor's frenzy.... It caught the whole town's attention. Do not doubt for a moment I wouldn't have gone to you. All Cole did was tell me how...to help."

Cole swung around, hanging his legs off the bed as he sat. "Gnashing teeth and wringing hands, each heartbeat accompanied by footfall, pacing. If she only--"

"And that's well enough," Cullen interjected.

Lavellan thought he looked a bit red, but it must have just been the lighting or something. More at the forefront of her mind, she was still doubtful of his volition to just...come running to her like that.

"Still falling into old habits as an advisor?" she suggested. "You're no longer obligated to look after me, you know."

"Perhaps." For some reason, Cullen's expression fell slightly. Then, he gave her a thoughtful look. "Though you seem to fall into old habits easily enough as well, heading off alone to face danger."

"I can take care of myself."

He sighed. "There is no doubt that you can...."

"No," Cole said pointedly. "There is."

Pup barked, punctuating the remark.

Lavellan and Cullen stared at Cole, stunned at the brazen statement. Lavellan felt just a flicker of annoyance, before it broke into mirth. She flung her foot out at Cole's shoulder, jostling him with playful kicks.

Pup let out a bark, feeding off the excitement.

"So now you've got  _ jokes _ ," she remarked, as her heel rapped harmlessly against Cole's armor.

"Not really," was all Cole responded with, and he did not look at all bothered.

Cullen watched this exchange wordlessly. Somehow, she could already tell just from the vibe of him that whatever he said would lead somewhere she'd rather avoid. She distracted herself with roughing up Cole.

Then, Cullen said, "Lavellan."

She did her best to not seem affected by his change in tone. Cole took her foot, seemingly just to remove it from him and place it down on the bed, but his touch steadied her. And he probably knew this.

Before she turned to face Cullen, Lavellan took a piece of food off her plate just for a prop to figit her hand and mouth on.

"I didn't mean for that animal comment to come out the way it had," Cullen said when he had her full attention. He sounded as if he were having just as difficult a time with bringing it up. "I only meant...you deserve a better death than that."

"I don't know why you sound so sad about it," Lavellan mumbled around an apple slice. Her gaze dropped down to her lap. "You were right about everything. You won."

"Won? What even...?" Cullen let out a laugh. "You...are a child."

His voice was warm, but she couldn't help feeling prickly at that comment.

Instead of arguing, she nibbled at the apple with gritted teeth. "Yeah. I know."

She could feel his gaze still upon her, and pretended she couldn't. If Pup were close enough, she could at least busy herself with petting him, but he was curled up on the floor. Out of reach. Damn.

"During the Inquisition...you  _ were _ a figurehead," Cullen informed her then. "But only at first."

That caught her curiosity. Cautiously, Lavellan raised her eyes to meet his again. "And then what?"

He snorted. "You turned out to be good at it. Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra-- and me-- we were only so useful at long-term planning, all the practicalities and such. But you? You had a knack for the impractical." The smile on Cullen's face widened slightly. "And that turned out to be exactly what we needed to make it as far as we had."

Those words.... Didn't they echo something that Solas had just told her in the Fade?

_ "...hardly possible...admittedly not unlike most matters when it comes to you." _

The Anchor sparked and she flinched. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen spring to his feet and move towards her. Pup was jostled from his nap and looked at his owner quizzically. A flighty panic seized Lavellan then and she quickly waved Cullen away before he could come close.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, clenching her jaw as her arm spat more green. The pain had sent a streak up her neck, nestling in her head.

"You don't have to do that," he sighed.

"And you don't have to do whatever it is  _ you're _ doing!" she found herself snapping. "What ever  _ was _ that earlier? You know I could've blown us both to bits, and you  _ said _ you knew the risks! You don't have to prove anything, you know! I can handle myself! I've  _ been _ handling myself, no matter what you think of me! I don't have to, but I am! I'm fine!"

As the pain faded, so did her anger, and she found herself in the too-quiet air left especially vacant from her raised voice. Awareness crawled back into her, mitigated barely by Cole's presence as he caught her eye from across the bed. She looked down. She didn't want his comfort.

She'd done it again.

Lost her temper, as she always did.

Pup was staring at her, too.

Lost.

"I meant,  _ that _ ," Cullen told her then, and it nearly broke her with how gentle he spoke. She averted her gaze, but he didn't try to crowd her or come near. He continued in that soft tone. "I told you before, I know why you do it. How you push others away. How you push kindness away. It's how you make yourself feel safe. As well as how you convince yourself you're able to keep others safe, from you, ludicrous as that is. And...I know you feel especially threatened around me."

"I don't-- I don't feel threatened!" Lavellan stammered, feeling herself flush red as she finally met his eyes out of defiance. " _ Especially _ not by you. And don't flatter yourself-- you're not  _ that _ kind!"

Cullen only raised an eyebrow, and actually seemed like he was making some effort to hold back a smile. "Never said I was."

_ Damn. _ He'd gotten her. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Lavellan could have fallen through the bed, through the floor, and deep into the earthy crust and been content to slumber for the rest of eternity with how embarrassed she thought she could burst with. Ironically, her arm gave little on erasing her from existence then-- such was her luck.

"My point being," Cullen said, mercifully allowing the moment to pass with no further prolongment. "You don't need to push others away. I told you I'm with you, and I meant it. I've  _ been _ with you, Lavellan. I realize I haven't been the best at proving it...."

But he had been. That was the worst of it.

Cullen had always put up with her and her prickliness, with normally only an exasperated sigh or a single sharp remark. She knew part of it used to have to do with rank, and him setting an example to the troops-- he was a stickler to the rules, through and through, after all-- but then, there were also the ways he'd go beyond duty.

From helping her through her lyrium withdrawals, to this new...nonsense that was happening. Unnecessary. She wasn't worthy of it.

"See you like this isn't easy," he continued. "But I know it's not any easier for you either. And I know better. This place...it has me facing former soldiers with the same looks on their faces that you had on yours. It's no excuse, I know, but it tears at me to see you wear it now."

"What look is that?" she asked, but she kind of already knew.

"Someone who's counting their days." Cullen paused, as if by saying it aloud he was finally letting the words sink in. Then, he said, "I'm sorry. I don't believe I've said that to you yet. It is not an easy thing to face your end."

"Is that why you're seeing if you can bait me to stay put here?" She forced a smile to imply that she was teasing, but she had the feeling there was too much truth to it for it to be very amusing.

Then, to her surprise, Cullen scoffed and offered something of an eye-roll. "Dorian might condone your long-shots, but I didn't see why I had to. But, I understand. You're as stubborn now as you were back then. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do."

Of course. Dorian had said as much that communication with the old inner circle was underway. She herself had all but begged Cassandra to move forward with plans, whatever they would be. It wasn't too farfetched that Lavellan herself would be among the the many things being discussed.

It made her somewhat uncomfortable, to think of what might be said about her, despite being a regular topic of gossip as the Herald of Andraste. But back then, the rumor mill was upheld by those she'd never meet. It was more unsettling to know for a fact that people she knew personally were talking amongst themselves about her, even if they meant no harm by it.

"I'd also like to apologize for...escalating things earlier," Cullen continued on, apparently determined to be morose. "Truth be told, I was taking after your example. When I was most struggling with my lyrium withdrawal during the Inquisition days, do you remember how you reacted?"

Not gracefully, she could say off the back, without even having to recall it.

But truthfully, she did remember her last-ditch effort to feel some sense of control over the situation. Heart hammering after Cullen--  _ Cullen _ , who'd barely raised his voice to her ever-- had hurled something across the room and only barely missed her. Steeling her voice steady as she rounded on him, turned her panic into forced anger to not let her fear show as she simply  _ commanded _ him to get his shit together.

It hadn't been kind.

She never knew how to be, in situations like that.

"It was exactly what I needed," Cullen told her. When she looked up at him in shock, he wore a smile. "Imagine my surprise to find you reprimanding me as a proper superior, for once. You, who never did anything proper. It made me realize exactly how far I'd allowed myself to slip, and reminded me of what I needed to do."

She blinked at him, mouth agape. No, that was all wrong. People were always trying to give her too much credit for everything.

"I'd just never seen you like that before," she explained, offering him honesty because she had nothing else. "I didn't know what to think about the lyrium or the addiction or everything you were going through. And, you'd told me you could die from it.... I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't even thinking of being proper. I was just...scared."

And the only way she knew how to deal with fear was getting angry instead.

She tensed when she felt Cullen touch her shoulder. She'd expected him to be disappointed, but when she looked up, the expression on his face was only pensive.

He said, "We truly did ask a lot of you, didn't we?"

Lavellan chewed on some bread to detach from the heavy mood. "It turned out fine in the end, didn't it?"

"Nearly," was his response.

She caught Cole's eyes from across the way, but could only stand to hold his gaze briefly. Knowing him, he was catching everything of what wasn't being said. She didn't want to be able to guess at even that. This much was already overwhelming her.

She also found herself rethinking Leliana and Josephine's amused expressions at the old war table, whenever she and Cullen got into it. All this time she'd assumed they were laughing at him. And only now was she considering the possibility that it had been her who'd they'd found so amusing all this time.

"No, it was both of you," Cole supplied then.

Lavellan shot him a glare to cut him off from continuing, and whether he was only pretending to not notice or if he actually didn't just grated at her.

Cullen glanced between them, but was at least familiar enough with the situation to not ask. His hand gripped Lavellan's shoulder slightly, bringing her attention back to him.

"It doesn't have to be  _ as _ difficult," he told her quietly. It was an echo of what he'd told her before, when she'd first arrived-- less forceful. A steady offered promise. "You're more than welcome to stay. I could use the company, and the help in rebuilding here." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "And, I'll have you know, the residents here can vouch for my bedside manner."

It would have been nice, if she could accept.

She could imagine herself continuing a quiet retirement. Having food platters brought to her. Being an annoyance at Cullen's side like old times.

Of course, that would require her to forget about everything else.

And if there was anything she was unfortunately good at these days, it was being unable to forget. Cullen must have sensed her resolve. His hand fell away from her then. Apologetically, she smiled at him.

"You might change my mind with a few more of these," Lavellan joked, raising her plate.

Cullen chuckled. And in the same mock tone, he affirmed, "Inquisitor. Er!  _ Lavellan _ ."

Pup barked in approval.

  
  


"I just want to  _ talk _ to him!" Dorian pushed.

"No, you don't," Lavellan responded for the umpteenth time. She was rather contentedly munching away on her latest platter-full of cheeses and fruits, and she wouldn't want to cut off her supply by risking anymore altercations with Cullen.

Although, she had to admit, filling Dorian in on the details had been funner than she'd assumed. At first, she was reticent to bring up how bad the Anchor had gotten at all, but he seemed to take it in some stride, if with a percetible amount of disdain. Higher on his concerns apparently was Cullen's behavior.

"You want to yell at him. And I've already yelled at him enough."

Dorian scoffed. "That's hardly suitable. He likes when  _ you _ do it."

Pup barked at that. He'd stayed in the storage shack with her; something both Cullen and Cole had condoned as both had left to set about their own tasks.

Lavellan frowned at Pup for taking sides. She told Dorian, "Don't be weird."

"Oh, sure, it's his quirk, but I'm weird just for saying so."

"He didn't seem to like it at all, anyway."

"That's what I'm surprised about. He's usually more...passive, with you."

"Eh." She crunched noisily on a cracker to distract herself as more uncomfortable feelings of guilt surfaced in her. "I was being difficult."

"Lavellan. It's no action you take. You  _ are _ difficult, plain and simple."

She swallowed wrong and when she coughed, she sent out a scatter of cracker crumbs across her lap. Pup barked, running in a circle in agitation until she stopped. When she recovered, she said, "Wow, tell me how you really feel then, Dorian."

"You make it look cute, if that's any comfort. I was only pointing out that nothing has changed between then and...now." Dorian paused a moment, which she happily took advantage of to crunch on more crackers. Then, "No...perhaps, I do understand him, after all."

Lavellan made no comment, at first. She didn't need to. She understood on some level, her current state of being was upsetting to them. Cullen had said as much. Dorian had his own outburst when he'd gotten the news.  _ She _ was still in the process of accepting it, and she was fumbling with it at best.

Then, she said, "What kind of food will you have for me, if I make it to Tevinter?"

" _ When _ , excuse you. And don't worry your pretty little head about those fine details." There was a smile in his voice. "I'm nearly as picky as you. Trust me when I say you'll be well looked after."

"You've got to beat out Cullen hand-delivering food to me in bed," she warned playfully. "He's got a convincing point if his intention was to have me stay forever."

"Yes, well, that's what happens when you yell at him, isn't it?"

" _ Bye _ , Dorian."

She heard the starting notes of his guffaw just before she cut the connection on the crystal.

  
  


The mountain air lower down the Frostbacks moved through her lungs differently. It was earthier here, softer-edged if that made sense. She pulled into her chest, and felt steadied.

Pup cut her off and nearly had her flipping over the top of him as he nudged rowdily into her legs, having fetched the stick she'd thrown earlier lodged between his jaws. She snickered breathlessly, making a grab for it, only for him to jerk back from her reach before she could take it.

He wagged his tail gleefully, nodding his head and inclining that she try to take the stick again.

_ Really? _

Lavellan feinted for the stick in one direction, and when Pup fell for it, she darted the other way and grasped enough of the stick that she could hold on when he tried to jerk away with it. The mabari growled at her, tugging at the stick. She had to lean her full weight backwards to maintain her grip.

Then, with an artful yank that unclamped his jaws, she managed to pry the stick away.

_ Dumb dog _ , she thought warmly, and hurled the stick as far as she could.

Pup sped after it with a sharp bark.

Cullen had intended to show her around New Haven, introduce her to some of the faces that had taken residence there. But she'd flat-out refused. There was no way she was going to endanger more people than she had to. Cullen showing good faith with her was one thing, but it didn't mean they should subject a whole village to potential death by explosion.

Cole, on the other hand, was spending a lot of time becoming well-acquainted with the town. He was there even now. Lavellan figured she could just ask him details later if she got curious enough.

Thus, Cullen then settled instead with showing her the lay of the surrounding land.

Which, of course because it was Cullen, turned into him brainstorming and offering her the best suggestions for navigating her way through the landscape. Advising her again. Old habits.

"It would be best to finish descending the mountain," Cullen informed her, a few paces aside as he surveyed the path leading away from New Haven.

She gulped down a laugh as she observed his so-serious expression and back-straightened posture as his solemn gaze befell the valley. What she didn't contain was the urge to gather a large mound of snow to pack into a ball.

It was tricky to do with just one hand, but she could manage if she stayed patient. Pup snuffled at the snow she gathered, and she gestured at him to shush while keeping at bay her own mirth.

"Then make your way southward on flat land, if you were intended on continuing the direction you were headed," Cullen continued. He was leaned down-- perhaps to get a better view at something in the valley. When she glanced over at him briefly, he hadn't seemed to notice what she was up to. "Food will be easier to come by there, as well."

"Yeah," she agreed absently, scooping up the snowball into her palm. She was readying aim just before Cullen spoke again.

"Please. Visit again."

The tone of his voice gave her pause. Well, actually, his request did, but it was the tone of his voice that let her know that he was being earnest, and not just polite. Hesitantly, she asked, "Even after all this trouble?"

"It wasn't trouble. Well,  _ you're _ always trouble, but. That of which I will endure. Also, Pup will miss you."

"For Pup, then." Once again, she raised the snowball.

"Inquisitor." And it was the tone of his voice that gave her pause again. "You're more than just fascinating."

Lavellan blinked, confused at his words before she remembered their argument from before. How she had just embarassingly spilled her Solas frustrations out.

"You will always be...," Cullen said.

With some interest, she waited for him to finish.

She wasn't expecting at all when he whirled around, launching his own snowball at her face.

"...a  _ cheat _ !"

The snowball hit her square in the face, and she sputtered with laughter, wiping it away with her short arm. When she could see again, she spied Cullen quickly packing another ball in his hands. She launched her snowball at his head, got him in the ear, and set away rolling her own reload.

Pup ran between them, clamping their thrown snowballs into his jaws when he could reach, and generally adding mayhem to their game.

For a small time, Lavellan forgot about the pain in her arm.

  
  


Later she did, after all, end up walking Haven.

Snow fell gently yet steadily, and she rubbed flakes of it from her eyes. She could hear the troops training outside the walls, and the faint sound of Cullen's voice shouting adjustments to them. She passed the center of town, where Varric would be speaking animatedly to anyone and everyone, sowing stories that barely sounded true-- that she only knew actually were true because she knew him.

Music drifted into the air from inside the Singing Maiden, where Lavellan could picture Sera keeping well to herself and judging everything with a sneer.

Only, no one was there. No one was around.

Haven was no more.

Lavellan knew that. And she knew then that she was dreaming.

Her legs carried her farther down the path. It was a way she still knew by each footfall, by each counted log of tinder comprising the sidelong wall, by the sight of the stone steps obscured in a mound of snow.

A large, dark wolf stood at the top of the steps, in the spot where Solas used to brood.

He seemed to be observing his old shack with-- not quite nostalgia, so much as a simple recognition. Lavellan attempted to stop, but she'd been in midstep when she saw him. The wolf's gaze darted in her direction soon her heel touched ground.

He seemed unsurprised to see her, yet dismayed. Per usual.

Lavellan gritted her teeth at the sting of it. He could at least disguise his displeasure at the sight of her. He was so good at pretending, wasn't he?

He watched her a moment, tensed to run.

_ This pointless stalemate again, _ Lavellan thought with irritable fatigue. She remained where she was.

She thought maybe, that if she didn't chase, he might not run. Would that be what it took, to get him to stay? If she just kept her distance?

"What do you want?" she asked, unable to keep the tremble from her voice, and she hated it. She hated herself for it. She hated  _ him _ for making her act like this sniveling wretch she barely recognized anymore. "I'll...I'll do it. You know I can, right? You know, I can probably do pretty much anything, at this point. I'd figure it out, for  _ you _ . I just don't get what you want. I--"

In the end, the wolf turned away from her and fled.

Her arm flashed with pain.

And she awoke, crying in the dark.

  
  


It wasn't long until Cole appeared. Although by then, she had everything packed. She was opened the door to the shack, and he was standing on the other side with a wordless stare. She waited for him to protest, to say she hasn't even seen the town yet, to remind her to at least wait long enough to bid proper farewell to Cullen and Pup.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said quietly when he didn't talk. She swallowed a lump in her throat and stared hard at the snow between them. She winced only slightly as her arm crackled. "I know you've been a big help to the town."

"I won't go," Cole said, taking a step toward her.

She hadn't realized she'd been shivering until he said that, and the tension in her shoulders eased just a bit. When she was able to meet his gaze, Cole just nodded to her, indicating he would follow her lead.

But Cole just nodded in acceptance and stepped out of her way, indicating she lead.

Then, there was only the crunch of her feet against snow, with Cole's silent gait at her side.

The black pitch of night was only barely beginning to give way to blue at the edges of the horizon. In the fluctuating, pale green of the Anchor, Lavellan spied the footsteps she and Cullen had left the day prior in the snow's crust, and smiled seeing Pup's pawprints looped around their set as well. The mabari tracks winded farther into the valley than she and Cullen had gone, and once Lavellan reached the last, an odd loneliness settled in her chest.

Pup's prints looped back around, where she knew the they'd accompany Cullen's footprints back into New Haven.

She'd been too uncomfortable to really question why Cullen had been so determined to say seemingly everything and anything he could think to say to her in their earlier conversations.

It was only now that she was realizing it had been his best attempt to settle things between them with no regrets.

He'd already accepted that it could very well have been the last time she'd see him. Or Pup.

Suddenly, Lavellan was awash with the urge to go back. To just...play with Pup. To be a pest to Cullen. To see New Haven with her own eyes, and meet all the former Templars that Cullen was practically  _ saving _ , in the same way he had saved her. To stop struggling and leave it to the Creators, as her elders had once time and time again lectured her to.

What if it so happened that her footprints looped back around, and returned to New Haven? To stay with Cullen and Pup, and live out the 'relative peace' Solas had intended for her?

Why did she have to be the type of person who got so  _ angry _ at that idea?

What was the matter with dying quietly?

Why could she not just give up on a lost battle?

What was  _ wrong _ with her?

She felt Cole's gaze on her, and hoped he wouldn't say anything or read into any of it. Just because she couldn't help but think about certain things didn't mean she wanted someone else to think about them too, much less assume they were open for discussion.

Just then, the long droning sound of a war horn swept across the valley.

Lavellan blinked. It seemed to have come from behind them.

It seemed to have come from...New Haven?

When she turned around, and glimpsed the town from afar, it was just as daybreak began to crest more steadily the horizon. Under honeyed tones of early light, she saw them.

Cullen and Pup, at the forefront. But alongside them, and behind them, spread out in rows, were all the former Templars under Cullen's watch.

They stood at the vanguard of the town's walls, brandishing flags and banners with the old insignia that struck the oddest chord of home in Lavellan's heart. So similar to the symbol of the Seekers of Truth, save for the sword impaling the eye. It was the symbol of the Inquisition.

It was then she realized how many of those now in recovery, if not all, had likely pledged service to her in those gone days.

Despite herself, reflex seized her then. Before she could think on it, she was brandishing her sword and holding it skyward. Mirroring her, the retired soldiers raised their own arms and bellowed. Their voices rung clearer and louder through the valley than the warhorn had, and the resonance would remain full in her chest long after she and Cole finally turned away and continued on their journey.

_ Next time, _ Lavellan thought. Next time she was there, she'd like Cullen to show her the town. She'd like to reacquaint with the former Templars. She'd like to have Pup romp along the cobblestone paths with her, and see Cole in action to the benefit and befuddlement of the townsfolk.

She'd like for there to be a next time.


	6. That's What Friends Are Foe

Cole was staring at her again.

Lavellan shrugged it off, staying her focus on the path. She felt...dazed, for some reason. Her attention kept drifting. There was the pain in her arm, sure, but this was different. In a way, it lessened the pain in her arm in how she sort of just kept getting distracted and spacing out.

"Shifting, turning, swirls to spirals, tendrils so twined, it's woven over now. There's no cutting through." Cole told her quietly, "You should've eaten more when we stopped."

"I told you, I'm just not hungry," she replied. To her own surprise, she didn't even feel annoyed at him. It was normally something she'd get annoyed at, wasn't it?

Odder still, she knew-- on some level-- she should have eaten more, like Cole had said. Not even necessarily because she had to eat. But because they had passed by some peach trees on the trail. And though she had been ecstatic about finding their first fresh pickings of fruit, upon biting into one, she realized she didn't have much of an appetite.

Normally, she would have scarfed down several and then perhaps taken a nap after.

Instead, she had barely finished half of one. And though that had been a while ago, and they had picked and packed away more for the journey, she also had no desire to rifle through the pack and nibble on more. Still, she figured she must have gotten her fill on fresh fruit from Cullen. She was probably still sated from all those platters, was all.

Lavellan found herself blinking then, ahead at the distant hillside farther south along the Frostbacks, fascinated by the visible snowline and the contrast of spring green against white. It looked liked a solid divide from this far away, but--

Her foot slid out from under her.

Before she hit the ground, much less ended up tumbling down the rest of the way, she found her arm held fast.

\--but up close, the boundary was a wide swath of slushed mud and frosted grass blades. They walked upon it now. The trail was sloppy, mushed up against the descent at an uneasy angle that would settle and solidify sometime during the drier months. For now, however, the early transitory season would have the melting snow and muddling up the path.

Cole pulled her upright until she was steady on her feet again.

"Thanks," she said after a beat, and then continued on.

She thought Cole's frown seemed to deepen, but. It wasn't as if he said anything after that.

And she was glad for his present lack of conversation. She wasn't much in the mood for talking either. Her throat felt tight. Raw, likely, from the cold mountain air. Nothing to be done about that, really.

She felt strangely hot, as well. Despite removing her outermost layer-- against Cole's arguments that she keep it on-- she was still sweating under the rest of her clothes. Too cool down, she'd press the cold mail plates of her armor to her face and neck. Something in the back of her mind was nagging her that her armor should've been too cold for that. That _she_ should be too cold for this. But the relief of the sensation won over her questioning.

"We should stop for the day," Cole said abruptly. After a moment, he added, "I'm tired."

Lavellan looked at him, unable to piece together why that sounded off to her.

"Cole," she said, concentrating on her words. "We're on a slope."

"As soon as we get to flat ground," Cole responded. "Then, can we?"

She thought for a moment.

And in that moment, lost her trail of thought. She regained only at Cole's pressing stare beside her. By then, she was still unable to come up with any reason to oppose him. "Alright."

Somewhere in the paces they covered, Lavellan realized she was getting tired too. And dizzy-- which she put down to the changed elevation. She was also somewhat sure she was moving slower than she normally did, but at the same time, she couldn't bring herself to move much quicker without feeling drained and out of breath. It didn't help that her throat still felt like it stung with each inhale and exhale.

She heard her name.

"What?" she asked, turning her head. The mountain felt like it was swaying under her feet. From the wind, maybe.

Cole only returned her gaze.

"Did you say something?" she prompted.

"No," he replied with something like agitation. "It's layering, pulled over her eyes. She doesn't get it."

Lavellan was surprised. She wondered why he was so bothered. She'd only asked a question. Actually, had Cole ever been bothered by anything? Not really, unless someone was in trouble in some way, and he wanted to help them, but was unable to do so immediately. It was a very specific circumstance.

"...Inquisitor...."

This time, Lavellan was sure of it. Surer of the voice behind it. She whirled around, calling out, "Solas?"

Just hillside. Just grass and snow and mud. Sky beyond. But she had heard him.

"Solas?" she tried again, taking a wobbly step.

"Lavellan."

She didn't have to turn around to feel Cole urging her. His influence tugged and nudged her, and it wasn't as if she were really resisting it, yet it felt delayed when she finally turned to face him.

She forgot what she was going to say.

Cole was still frowning. In a firm voice, he told her, "We're going now."

Right. He was tired, wasn't he?

"Right," she agreed, and stepped back into pace with him.

The elevation change really began draining her. Despite the air being slightly warmer, her throat felt hoarser. She started stumbling, bumping into Cole before she could ever lose her balance. She tried putting some distance between them to spare him, but it kept closing anyway for some reason. She was sure they'd barely made much progress on their descent, but it felt like forever.

Finally, Cole insisted they set up camp in a tone that beckoned no argument.

Not that Lavellan had any to give.

She felt...weary. Exhausted to the bone. Hot and cold at the same time.

She'd turned away for what seemed like only a moment to survey their surroundings. A small patch of only slightly evened earth encircled by brush.

The sky was grey overhead. Rumbling.

Oh. Maybe that was why she felt so disoriented. Thunderstorms always brought on a terrible, oppressive humidity. It would be worse as they were on the east side of the mountain range.

Suddenly, Cole was ushering her into the tent he had set up at some point. Lavellan would have lingered longer on the calculation of how quick he'd done it, but then everything that followed seemed like a flurried rush. He was having her undress. He was having her settle into her bedroll. He was pushing a peach into her hands. And even though objectively she liked it, she didn't have any urge to eat it at all.

"No, thanks," she told him.

"You can't let food go to waste," Cole insisted. "They're peaches. You like peaches."

It was a valid point, but it sounded shallow for some reason. Like there was another point behind it he wasn't speaking of.

Nonetheless.... "I really can't. I'm sorry."

Again, she was questioning herself. Apologies never came that easily for her. Why had they never come so easily? That one just now had been easy.

She was so confused. And she was confused over why she was confused.

Cole was gently pushing her down then, towards her bedroll. But there was something else now. A resonance coming from her chest. A crystal.

There was something she absolutely needed to do with it...right?

"He'll understand," Cole promised.

She wasn't even sure what he meant, but she believed him. She followed his push to lie to flat on her back, blinking at the crease of the tent above.

A new thought dawned on her then.

"Cole," she said. "I think I'm ill."

If nothing else, she hoped she could remember the look Cole that gave her right then, before her eyes shut.

Something about it made her so sure she'd find it amusing once she was better.

  
  
  


She was following a line of afterimages of herself, capturing each of them as she stepped into each shape like she was collecting pieces. She was trudging uphill on a dune-- the summit of which was crowned by an encirclement of moon phases that crested the horizon.

Overhead, a seemingly never-ending string of aravels traveled, slowly spiraling in the direction opposite of where she was headed.

One of the images ahead was different from the others. As she got close enough to examine it, she could make out that the silhouette was looking at something a way's off. She stepped into its place.

In the distance, a rumble.

Lavellan looked up in time to see the sky flash green. A roaring boom cracked across the space then, sending some of the aravels rolling out of place. She threw her arm over her face as the force of the explosion gusted sand up into her field of vision. When the dust settled, she saw the Breach spanned over the reaching peaks of the Frostbacks. This must have been how the explosion looked from afar.

She still had no idea how she survived, considering she'd been holding the very bomb in her left hand.

A shock of cold spray made her gasp and whirl around. Rain poured over her, and she was looking downward at the ocean. A Qunari Dreadnought bobbed haphazardly in the water, engulfed in smoke and flame. Lavellan felt her throat tighten. She recognized it.

She lost her footing then, and slipped off the hill, straight into the water, through the ocean, sinking down down, until she landed in front of Skyhold's barn. Only when she looked up, she was swimming in a crowd at Val Royeaux, and the sinking feeling became localized to her stomach as she spied the gallows ahead.

Then, the dream was shifting again.

The Fade must not have had high expectations for her deduction skills, with all these hints. Even she could pick out the betrayal trend.

Sure enough, the next place she ended up, she was in mid-stride going forward through the double doors of her Skyhold room's old balcony. What made her heart leap was who she was following behind.

Solas turned on his heel then. The gesture was sheepish-- so unlike the man she knew of now, and so like the one she thought she knew once. He looked at her with a shy warmth, a guarded hesitance.

_"What were you like before the Anchor?"_

And, _oh_.

Lavellan felt her throat tighten on the retort, _Happy, you prick._ But her body kept levity in its step, and Lavellan was trapped inside of herself, watching it unfold. Watching herself open and trust the very god of trickery. Feeling herself become undone by his gaze on her. Her face was smiling. She was smiling. She remembered what it was like, feeling so warm, feeling so whole.

 _"Have I misjudged them?"_ the conversation went.

She found herself answering bitterly, _"Most of the Dalish care more about impressing other hunters with a good shot or talking about how awful humans are."_

That...was the thing, wasn't it? Why she threw herself so eagerly into the Inquisition despite all her griping about not wanting anything to do with them in the first place.

She'd barely felt part of her clan.

She was too combative, didn't take to the old ways easily, and couldn't hunt for shit. They'd given her a shield to protect herself because she simply didn't have the reactiveness to dodge, in a clan primarily of rogues. The elders were always on her case about something, she was always getting into it with her peers, and then finally, once she was of age-- they sent her far away. To the Conclave.

But the Inquisition had wanted her. Immediately, they had need for her.

It had been so surreal, but for a short time, she'd mattered. For a short time, there was a place in the world she belonged. And once she fell for Solas, she had been so _sure_ that things were going right. For once.

Happy? Maybe she had never been happy. Maybe she never would be. Maybe...the closest she ever got was when she'd been at Solas's side.

_"It means I have not forgotten the kiss."_

Lavellan was floating on each step as she made her way to him. _"Good."_

And, ohhh. She remembered this part, too. The frenetic buzz humming her skin to life as he took her in his arms, as she leaned up to him. Her body was live with the high of it, and her soul inside shrunk away because she already knew where this bright new path would ultimately lead.

She would walk it again.

Dumb as she was.

Something in Solas's eyes shifted then, as he stared down at her.

"It's you," he whispered, aghast.

Lavellan's heart skipped. "It's _you_."

"What are you doing here?"

Abruptly, he removed himself from her, and just as quickly he stepped back. Lavellan couldn't help but feel relieved, even though the air that rushed into the new space between them felt cold to her. But she found she could move freely again.

"This memory isn't just yours, and I didn't even come here on purpose," she explained quickly. Bitterness crept into her then as she questioned why exactly she needed to explain anything. "But interesting way to pass time. So sorry reality couldn't hold up to the fantasy for you."

No. Why was it always like this now? Why couldn't it ever just stay nice?

But the questions only incensed her more. If he would just _talk_ to her, then maybe--

"This is not my doing," Solas told her, glancing around them pensively.

Her irritation bit. "Oh, so it's _my_ fault?"

 _No. Stop it._ That was what a part of her mind was telling her, but it seemed to shrink against the amassment of emotion swelling within her.

Solas's frown hardened. "I did not say that. The Fade--"

"You don't _say_ ANYTHING," she spat.

"I cannot say much when you are in a state such that you will hear none of it."

The dream cracked around them into fragments, into shards of glass. It took Lavellan a moment to realize, through the pounding of fury in her skull, that the green light lining the edges of the shards were actually flashes being reflected. The Anchor was flaring to life again. Was the dream ending?

How _convenient_ for him then.

But then, the shards spun, smoothing out into fewer points, rectangle-like. Eluvians, she realized. The next jolt of the Anchor she did feel, and it had her staggering.

When she looked back up, she caught Solas's stare. And in his gaze...sadness.

Oh, fuck _that_. She was tired of him simply feeling sad and then going on and continuing what he'd been doing even after. She was downright sick of it.

_"You came here to help, Solas. I won't let them use that against you."_

They were in Haven. The first Haven. Solas's form was shifting around him, echoes of how he had been flickering off like the edge of a flame.

 _"How would you stop them?"_ his voice asked.

"This is...," Solas trailed off, looking dismayed.

 _"However I had to,"_ Lavellan heard herself declare.

Stupid.

When she looked up, the world was changing again. Breaking down, and building up.

"There were _plenty_ of times I would have listened," she grit out.

Haven again, but a different Haven still. A different dream. Solas was standing closer. He seemed to jar at the new placement.

_"You change...everything."_

_"Sweet talker...."_

"There was a time I would have listened to _anything_ you could've told me," she said, voice shaking over the sound of her own echo. "A time when I hung on every damn word."

The dream swirled, and they were standing in the rotunda in Skyhold.

"Ellana, I--" Solas started, but then the echo overtook and she didn't know if it was actually him speaking anymore, " _\--apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it."_

"You're so full of shit, you know that?" she exclaimed, both to him and to the echo. The next thing she knew, tears were spilling from her eyes. She couldn't see the dream anymore, but she didn't have to in order to know it was still shifting between them, shaped from both of them.

_"You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help."_

The Anchor was twisting into her again. Ellana bent over with a sob, clutching her arm as its magic lashed outward. The lot of good being a 'true friend' got her. The ground was phasing out, phasing back, placing them in different spots of the rotunda.

_"Hello."_

_"My heart."_

_"Vhenan."_

Ellana shook her head like she could shake the echoes from her mind. How many times had she and Solas stood in front of one another? How many times had she looked him in the eye with only warmth in her heart for him and thought he was perfect? How many times had he looked at her and withheld so fucking much while she gave him her all?

"Vhenan," Solas said, for real.

Ellana flinched, shooting him a glare. "Why do you even bother to call me that? What does it matter to you?"

"You need to wake up," he continued quietly, as if she had not even spoken. "This is too much. For us both."

When she met his gaze, the look he gave her was hardened, cold. But leaking out of him, through the echoes flickering through, she noticed something else. Despair, present in all iterations of him, only apparent now that they were all layered over one another, made clear.

Bitterly, she wondered if that had been another part of her denial. Another aspect she'd remained blind to, believing everything was fine. She was truly so tired of herself.

_"You're being grim and fatalistic in hope of getting me into bed, aren't you?"_

_"I am grim and fatalistic. Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit."_

More tears marred her vision.

"Just leave," she mumbled, voice cracking. "That's all you do."

Then, her arm was splitting into light. She stumbled with a warbled yell, falling into him, hating herself for loving it. Loathing the way her heart sung as he caught her, as he lifted her chin to look at her.

The dream had moved them once more. The air had gone muzzy with gentle fog. Green foliage dipped in towards them. She heard a small trickle of a waterfall nearby.

_"I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me."_

_Oh, Creators, please no...._

Solas's hand was on her cheek. Both by echo, and his actual hand.

"Why aren't you waking?" Solas whispered, a rise of what sounded like panic in his voice. He was looking her up and down, as if he could determine the reason. Green from the Anchor reflected in his eyes, and they darted back to hers. He thumbed her skin. "Vhenan?"

But her knees were buckling as the Anchor surged, piercing through her. Ellana was crying out, unable to answer. Solas followed her down, not allowing her drop. He lowered her slowly, settling in front of her. Uncannily, their echoes moved with them. She remembered this part, too.

"No. No, no, no. Not now. Where is Cole?"

_Cole?_

But when she looked up, her vision was obscured. The echoes flickered just above her face; worn, faded silhouettes of Solas's hands emitting light moved over her face, bluish-green and soft unlike the stark, garish green of the Anchor.

Lavellan bit back a sob. "Stop."

But it was already done. Before she'd even agreed to have him remove the vallaslin from her face, he'd already removed them from her heart. There was no going back after he'd told her what they truly meant. That had been another thing he'd taken from her. Another thing she'd given.

Their past selves were standing, and then she was looking into Solas's eyes again.

_"You are free."_

No. That had been just before he'd locked the final shackle. How could she be free from him after that? Couldn't he have known it would only bind her to him forever?

From the look on Solas's face, guarded and guilty, he must have realized it too. The Anchor tore open and she screamed. If she were more honest, she might have been able to admit it was just as much to drown everything out as much as it was because of the actual pain.

_"You bring me here, take the vallaslin from my face, and now you just end it?"_

Solas let out a shaky breath, looking anguished. He was still holding her-- she realized it as she blinked past the pierce of the Anchor. Suddenly, him being there was too much. She couldn't bear it.

"Let me go," she whispered, feeling like her insides were made of ice shards.

Startled, Solas just stared openly at her. The Anchor burst and Ellana clenched her jaw through it. She tried pushing against him, to shove him back.

"I said, let me _go_...."

"Vhenan--"

"Don't call me that!"

" _Ellana_ \--"

"Why do you only stay when I don't want you to?!" Lavellan demanded. She cringed as pain split through her. "But it's so easy for you to go when I'm begging you to stay!"

The Fade was whirling around them again.

_"Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you...at least for now."_

"Shut _up_!" This time, Lavellan succeeded in shoving him back. She immediately snapped back in recoil from the Anchor driving in another hot spike of agony. "Why say these things? Why do this? If we can't be together, and if I don't matter--"

"You do. My heart, please. You must never think--"

"You're fine with killing me, Solas! You were fine with laying _my_ life on the line for a false crusade to spearhead _your_ rise to power! And damn me for being so willing to die for you." Lavellan clenched her jaw tight as another sob wracked her lungs. She curled tightly around her arm, suddenly feeling cold. Suddenly feeling hot. "Damn me...."

"Ellana-- open your eyes--"

Lavellan did, and now the Fade was a haphazard placement of barely-recognizable objects, splotches of rapid-shifting color among darting lights and shadows.

“No, vhenan. Open your _eyes_.” Solas was in front of her still, but she could barely make out his face.

Clearer was the figure behind him. The figure was clad in shimmering armor, and a great pelt. The figure was backing away from her, towards the ominous edged cut of a large mirror.

 _"--ar lath vir suledin!"_ she heard herself from the past cry out. It sounded just as corny as the first time she had said it. And as she heard it repeated, she realized how empty it had been too.

There was no _var_ . It really had only ever been, _ar_.

"Stay the fuck away from me," she said as Solas's eyes began flickering with wisps of silvery blue, and as his humble robes became embellished and fitted to his form.

She flung her arm at him.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY--"

It went through, like she'd reached out into thick fog.

The Anchor crashed through her then, through the dream, like a riptide tearing it all asunder and expunging her wholly.

Drowning. Thrashing.

 _Flailing_ \--

  
  
  


When she broke the surface, she was back in the waking world, teeth chattering over broken sobs. The Anchor roved through her senses, a crawl of white-hot thorned agony where her left arm should have been.

"Far flung and fleeing, fires fanned in frost, forlorn, too forced, and faltering," Cole was mumbling, pulling her close. "Always fighting. A feeling so familiar, for so long."

And it all spun around her. She shut her eyes. She was so cold. She was too hot.

Lavellan twisted, burrowing her head against him and screamed. Her legs kicked threw her covers off and she shuddered, groaning as her toes dug into the foot cloth. Another flash from the Anchor bled through her eyelids. When she had the mind to look, she saw torn fabric flapping in storm winds. Water was spraying her face.

 _No. The tent...._ It was ruined. She ruined it.

She was ruining everything.

Her vision blurred.

She was only ever ruining everything.

A noise escaped her, not entirely from the pain the Anchor gave her, and Cole just curled himself over her then. She could feel his essence like a blanket over her rawed frays of feeling. Fighting. Growing fainter. Fumbling. Frantic.

_It's alright. It can be fixed._

Could it?

_I'll fix it._

Lavellan yelped as the Anchor flashed.

_You can be helped._

But could she?

_I'll help you._

But _could_ he?

She was crying again. She clung to Cole with the only hand she had left, tucking herself tight against him.

_I will._

She couldn't believe it. It was too hard to believe with everything that had happened, that was happening. It all felt beyond her. Every single day felt so beyond her, ever since she ended up with the mark, and maybe even before that. Maybe, it was living that was beyond her. Maybe, she wasn't meant to live....

Immediately, like a lightning flash, brighter and sharper than even the Anchor's pain, she felt-- a sort of, soothing. A torrent of it. It was odd...like an aggressive comfort. Like being hushed. Like being swaddled.

Like being unable to breathe, but then having someone push on your chest over and over. That was what it felt like.

And then, similarly, she felt exhaustion after. Her consciousness was faltering. She was still too cold, still too hot. The Anchor still hurt, but felt distant. It was as if that feeling of comfort was now seeping all the way through her, like it was muting out everything else.

It was enough. She was being lulled back down.

"Cole--" she called aloud, though it came out in a weak, tattered voice. She felt herself slipping, but she grasped his clothes, tugging for his attention.

Somewhere in the blur of fever, his hand found hers. Cool against her burning skin.

"I have you," he said. "I won't go."

"Cole," Lavellan tried again. "Don't...don't let me...."

 _Don't let me dream,_ she thought desperately and hoped he could hear her.

Hoped he could somehow help with that. And then she was falling past him.

Failing fast now, folding from _me, no too far now, follow my voice, Lavell--_

She lost his hand.

  
  
  


She was blinking at stone bricks. Well-set, and old. Familiar, somehow, down to the winding crack that led to where the stone had crumbled to smaller rubble and still held strong due to the masterful architecture.

Lavellan stepped towards it.

A small splash under her foot caught her attention, like she'd just walked into a puddle. But when she looked down, the water lined the whole floor beneath her.

And then, it began to rise.

The cold drench of it suddenly gathered upwards around her ankles, climbing rapidly. Lavellan gasped from the freezing vice of it. Her feet were instantly numb. She whirled around, splashing it around it as it flowed quickly up her calves.

Over there. A stairwell!

She made a break for it, encumbered by weighted, clumsy steps as the water rose up to her knees. Lavellan threw herself, clambering up the stone steps and pulling herself free from the liquid void. It only rushed in quicker now. She sprung up, sprinting as fast as she could up the stairs. From how they were spiraling, she must have been going up a tower.

She threw herself against the stone bricks to keep herself upright. These, too, felt as if her hands knew them. As if she'd braced her weight against them before, climbing these steps up and up. Day after day. Lavellan expected the door at the top before she even saw it. She knew how it got jammed, and to lift up before pushing through--

It swung open for her and Lavellan burst through the other side in a stumble. Immediately she flipped around to throw it back shut.

She stayed tense, panting, watching for the water to begin piling through the wood. But it didn't.

Lavellan heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good," a familiar voice said, in this place that was growing in familiarity itself.

Lavellan whirled around. And as she did, she gained better bearing on her surroundings. From the wooden railing at the center of the circular room, to the great amount of crates that burdened the space, to the wide open-air window that Lavellan used to catch sight of ravens taking flight....

And, even more known to her, as expected as had been the door, standing at the very window now was Divine Victoria.

Leliana greeted her with a nod. "I was hoping for a chance to speak with you."

It wasn't much of a surprise to see her. And similarly, it must not have been such a surprise for Leliana to find her in one of these lucid non-dreams.

The fact that she'd prepared a piece for the off-likelihood of meeting Lavellan here was really just a testament to how Leliana had always been. Unsurprised and readily-accepting of strange turnabouts, with only a mind for how to bend any development to her advantage. It was how she rose to the role of the Divine. And Lavellan knew Leliana's past adventures with the lored Hero of Ferelden had contributed much to this attitude.

As she approached the other woman, she noticed the gloves on Leliana's hands weren't part of the robes of her office. Instead, they were the gauntlets she had worn when she'd worked in the Inquisition. The gauntlets Lavellan had seen her take to combat and kill with.

The same gauntlets she sent her ravens with. And as they did, they were covered in off-white faded smears of bird droppings.

It sent a tickle of amusement through her.

"Is this what her Most Holy is up to these days?" Lavellan quipped.

"You might be surprised how well menial duty can obscure a path paved in blood and broken bones," Leliana retorted, her white robes evanescing with a flourish. And just like that, the spymaster of the Inquisition had returned in full. She hadn't even batted an eyelash at the shift of the dream. "But these are things the Chantry has always done, and I have only ever served with utmost devotion."

As she met Lavellan's eyes, the latter couldn't help her peal of laughter.

Unlike Cullen who took her jibes in stride, or Josephine who would get loud and flustered in protest, Leliana's reaction would be to offer her loveliest, sweetest smile...and speak only the most brutal, blackest threats to her.

For whatever reason, it never failed to make Lavellan _laugh_ . It wasn't as if she didn't take Leliana seriously. She was certain that Leliana could make good on those threats, and even _would_ if given the right circumstances. But perhaps it was the juxtapose of what she was saying to how she said it, that just tickled Lavellan to tears. The thrill of it, as well. The fact that Leliana was absolutely in all manners extremely dangerous, and there Lavellan was just provoking that side of her.

It became their shtick. Lavellan would pester her, and Leliana would decisively end the play with a single remark that would send Lavellan along on her way snickering.

"I have to say, it's good to see you in such good cheer," Leliana remarked. "The report Cullen had sent gave little reason to remain optimistic of your current state."

"You expected optimism from Cullen?" Lavellan asked incredulously. She hoped it hid her embarrassment of being a topic of discussion between her former advisors. "Odd misstep from someone who otherwise never misses anything."

Leliana just smiled. "Maker willing, the last for a while. We can't afford any slip-ups if we hope to stand a chance in eliminating Fen'Harel."

Lavellan froze.

At first, she wondered if she had misheard. But Leliana only held her gaze steadily.

"Eliminate?" Lavellan repeated, for good measure.

"Yes," Leliana said.

"I intend to redeem him. I told you...."

"Yes."

"And what happened to that plan?"

"Lavellan, in securing your well-being, I am your friend," Leliana stated. "In redeeming the Dread Wolf, I am most assuredly your enemy."

Lavellan would have pressed further, but something, a tug in her gut, knew better. "The others are in agreement with this new take, then."

Lavellan blinked rapidly, willing herself to not break down in front of Leliana, of all people. She couldn't count on Solas. And now she felt as if she couldn't count on anyone else to have her back in somehow reaching him.

She scoffed, not unkindly. "What would you think, if I were to ally with Solas?"

Lavellan was shocked at the stab that thought sent through her chest.

Leliana observed her expression change and nodded. "That reaction should be enough to remind you of his transgressions."

Lavellan dropped her gaze under the other's scrutiny, torn further. Is that how the others saw it as well? Her, whatever she had left that was once a relationship with Solas-- did they see it as her betraying them?

"He hurt you," Leliana continued. "He betrayed our cause. And he sows our destruction as we speak. He declared himself our enemy, in doing all those things. None of his actions should be taken lightly. You would know, most of all. The hurt he inflicted upon you was that much more...personal."

"That's a word for it," Lavellan said dryly, thinking about how most relationships didn't end in lost limbs.

"But the line he intends to cross now goes well beyond personal matters." She was angling at something. Leliana never bothered being diplomatic if it was quicker to just be ruthless. There must have been more she wanted to say.

"You don't think I know that? But he hasn't destroyed the world yet, so as far as that goes, it's still only personal." Lavellan had no resolve on this, even as she spoke. She didn't know why she was still defending him, from his own damn consequences no less.

Leliana's gaze remained cool. "As far as we can be sure of. However, it would be beneficial to bear in mind that Solas is no stranger to subterfuge. The way I recall it, Fen'Harel is known as the God of Betrayal, and is rather committed to the role. He implanted himself in the Inquisition, and had spies stationed without our knowing."

"Yeah, I'm well-familiar with all that, too."

"Is that my cue now to address something that may have bypassed your notice?"

"Are you speaking as my friend, or as my enemy?" Lavellan shot back.

At this, Leliana laughed. "As your former spymaster. You'll eventually find out, Lavellan, that people like you and I have little to gain from simplicity."

Lavellan was left wordless by the comparison. She was of the opinion that she and Leliana were not much alike-- in a bad way.

She knew Leliana wouldn't have been so bothered executing someone.

Just as she knew Leliana wouldn't have let Fen'Harel simply turn his back and walk away unscathed in the Crossroads.

Leliana would have figured something out, even if it meant becoming a petrified statue with the Qunari; she would have risked it all. She was _that_ kind of person. She had that resolve. She wouldn't have sat and stared dumbly. She wouldn't have fallen for the Dread Wolf in the first place.

More gently, Leliana continued, "I am not the enemy you should be worried about. In fact, I only want you to remain vigilant about the company you've kept."

She was patient enough as Lavellan thought about who exactly she was hinting at.

"Cole?" Lavellan finally said, surprised. "What about him? He's fine. He's been with me this whole time."

"It is, first and foremost, a spirit, no?" Leliana offered only an even stare. "We call him Cole, and contain his presence within the limits of our understanding. But truthfully, he doesn't abide by our rules of living, nor our ethics. He is an entity of Compassion, and seeks to deliver comfort wherever pain is greatest."

"And he came to me for that very reason. He stays, for that very reason."

"Then, allow me to ask.... Have you thought about what might happen, should he begin to empathize more with the other side?"

"I don't see why this has to be about sides," Lavellan protested.

"There is the world Solas means to resurrect, and the world Solas means to sacrifice," Leliana iterated with a hard tone. "There are sides. And you have long been placed."

Leliana's gaze dropped slightly, and Lavellan hastily turned her body to hide the monstrosity that should have been her left arm. Almost apologetically, Leliana raised her stare to meet her eyes again. But the rest of her stayed steadfast.

"What happened to us not gaining anything from simplicity?" Lavellan muttered.

"Thus, you've yet to give up on him," Leliana said, her voice gentle. "I'm not telling you this to cause distress. I'm telling you this so that you may better understand the position you're in."

And that was just like Leliana, wasn't it? She always seemed to have a knack for delivering bad news. Actually, Lavellan had suspected that sometimes Cullen and Josephine would delegate all the bad news to her since they didn't like being the ones to deliver it themselves. And Leliana, who thought of all information not as good or bad, but instead 'useful' or 'yet to be used'.

Steeling herself, she just nodded for Leliana to proceed.

"Cole knew about the Dread Wolf and kept it secret, despite what is on the line and what could have been avoided," Leliana continued then. "I don't doubt he was acting out of compassion, but what he did, and what it has yielded for us-- for _you_.... Sometimes, evasive action only begets more suffering. Sometimes, compassion begets cruelty."

Lavellan swallowed at the lump developing in her throat. These were things she had, admittedly, willingly ignored.

She knew Cole had no problem with killing. He only sought to reduce suffering, and at times, murder was a means to that end. It was why he never seemed to contest at the notion of executions. Or why he would sooner opt for a coup de grace than expect a gravely ill person to continue to suffer on a grisly road to unguaranteed recovery. After all, what was corporeal life to an entity of the Fade?

But...she hadn't considered what that could mean, in the stalemate between her and Solas. She hadn't considered past the face value of Cole appearing before her when her time was obviously nigh.

It was just the sort of news Leliana would have taken upon herself to deliver. The emphasis must not have not been lost on her either, because a smile ticked at her mouth then.

"There is a philosophy popular among bards that goes 'a friend to all is a friend to none'," she said. "I only advise you to be aware."

"I should go," Lavellan said, a heavy weight in her chest that wasn't there before.

Leliana nodded, quiet now after having said her piece. She turned her head to gaze out the window, taking in the view of the Frostbacks peaking around the castle.

It all felt so familiar, that as Lavellan stepped back, her hand reflexively reached for the railing she knew to find behind her. Too late after she'd casually lunged over the side of it, as she used to, did she recall that this was not actually in Skyhold.

And she had no idea where she was going now.

In hindsight, maybe she should have.

  
  
  


It felt different than falling through air. Scrape-like, like she was being ground into a wall.

The feeling persisted. The colors around her brightened. The shapes, they seemed to stylize. It was like being flattened, compressed so that any part of her body that overlapped may well not have existed. Soon, there was not really an above or a below that Lavellan could fathom. Just a sideways. Just one side of a sideways.

She fell past a shape that she somehow knew was the eye of the Inquisition, as if she could see herself outside herself, like her bodily awareness had shifted to match the simplified place she found herself slowing to a stop in.

The realization struck her as her feet touched a landing point, and the shapes came to a rest around her. She knew this place.

Solas's frescos.

The vast paintings that spread across the walls of the rotunda, of marked events that had shaped the Inquisition. Oddly proud depictions, now that she thought about it, considering he'd been an enemy at that time too. In most ways, she was done questioning Solas's intentions or feelings. And in others, she wondered if she was doomed to never stop guessing.

She'd gone into the rotunda constantly when Solas had left.

Each time she opened the door, she'd somewhat expected to find him standing there, with some sort of sheepish explanation. They'd reunite, he'd take her in his arms, and she'd have him back, and he'd have her...finally.

Only, each time she'd opened the door, she'd find it as vacant as the day before that, and the day before that. Instead, she'd find herself standing alone and surrounded by these paintings. She'd stand there for longer than she'd realize-- until someone would come looking for her, or come across her and ask her what she was doing-- just basking and feeling for Solas in a place he'd just occupied so recently. And then, 'recently' became 'some time ago'.

Time became a sickening distance, dragging her away from a once-upon when she'd felt whole and wanted.

Lavellan padded amidst the paintings, marveling at how warm they felt. Not, maybe temperature-wise, but more so like a brightness summoned in her chest. Again, she found herself ruminating on what Solas might have been thinking as he created these.

He had been unhappy with her decision to side with the templars, but that was here. Haven's destruction hadn't been a day anyone was particularly fond of remembering, but he painted that as well. There was the Siege of Adamant, and then the Alliance forced at Halamshiral. Finally, Mythal's Temple.

Yes, was what the Whispers were saying. At least, that was about as much as she was able to make out now. Lavellan knew they really were wasted on her, only ever vague and only ever felt like reaffirmations of her own thoughts; she tended to forget about them more often than not.

Morrigan, or any mage really, would have likely been much more intune with their messages. But some part of her felt that much more vindicated. It only confirmed that the Well would not be misused. How could it since Lavellan could barely use it at all?

Still, Solas had been fuming after she'd drank. Funny. Only now as she looked back was she able to realize exactly how many of her decisions he'd disapproved of. Another thing she'd overlooked. Had they been doomed from the start?

But there, at the edge of where the temple painting faded out, Lavellan spotted the final piece.

The unfinished work she had found in his room, of the dragon with a sword run through its neck, and the wolf standing over its body. She had never known what to think of it. Only that it seemed sad, somehow.

Other than that, it didn't offer answers to any of the questions she was left with once Solas's room became barren of him.

She was reaching out to touch the wolf's bowed head, when she felt a sort of...vibration, through the space.

It took her a moment before she was able to process that the vibration was the sound of voices. Not the whispers. These voices seemed to come from outside of her, and outside of where she was, and at the same time, right there beside her.

Lavellan shifted around, searching, trying to listen.

"..sleeping...won't go...."

Cole.

She pushed towards it.

"...and...alright?"

Was that...Solas?

Lavellan pushed harder. She then realized she was pushing past layers of paint and limestone, through the space of the frescos rather than with. And slowly, a better visual emerged in the dim light.

She was trapped in the wall, in the painting. But out in the air of the dream, she saw them. It really was Cole and Solas. They were speaking...? And by the looks of it, neither of them appeared to find this at all unnatural. Suddenly, Lavellan felt herself going cold with dread, any warmth of the fresco colors draining from her. Her chest felt tight, like she wasn't able to breathe properly.

No. What she was seeing-- wasn't--

Lavellan leaned heavily against the fresco surface, frozen in place. She was suddenly feeling horribly dizzy. Too hot, and too cold again.... There was a green light flickering from, somewhere around her. There was pain.

"Where is she headed now?" she heard Solas ask.

By then, the dream had gained a tremble. That, or the only tremble gained was hers alone.

Cole must have sensed something, because at that moment, his eyes shifted just enough so that they caught hers. Lavellan pushed away, pushed back deeper into the stone, against the overlay of the fresco plaster.

"Wait--" Cole said, but she was vaulting backwards through the wall as the dream collapsed to dust and swallowed her.


	7. Buddy System

She was spat back into the waking world with green violence swarming her. Lavellan didn't have time to even scream as pain raged from her arm. She was blinded by the Anchor's light, felt herself catch brief air.

Then she collided with earth, sputtering in dirty water. Even when she lifted herself up, rain was falling in sheets, only allowing mere pockets of air between the fat water drops. More magic lashed from the Anchor, driving her balance gone again so that she was face-first back in the mud.

Hands were on her, pulling her up from drowning. Lavellan felt rage pulse straight up her jugular and into her temple. She shoved him as hard as she could.

She ended up only shoving herself back to the ground. The night was pitch around them, the contrast of the dark sharpened by the Anchor's erratic flashing. A streak of magic vaulted from it, pushing her into a slide across the wet ground. This time she had the awareness to scream.

Gasping. Cold. Dizzy. Cole swam into view and she bared her teeth at him before he could try to touch her again.

"Please. You're still ill. Let me help."

"Don't come any closer!"

"I won't go. Don't be afraid--"

"I'M NOT AFRAID!"

"No more space, only holes left where pieces once were. Stolen. Given. Thrown away just the same."

"SHUT UP!" Lavellan doubled over from the pain. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to talk to him at all. "Stay out of my head! Get away from me!"

The Anchor roared to life and it wrenched her arm nearly from its socket. Lavellan throat swelled with sobs. Her eyes burned. She couldn't have loathed her whole life more.

"I won't go," Cole said. Green edged out his silhouette in the dark, a few paces beyond her.

"What the fuck  _ was _ that?" she demanded. She was shaking, from the cold, from the Anchor, and from what she'd just fucking  _ witnessed _ .

"So much hurt, dug deep, dug up. The same wound stabbed fresh. Again, again, again. No, that's not it at all." Cole was reaching for her. He took a step forward. "I followed you in. I was meaning to pull you out."

Lavellan scrambled away, but her legs slid clumsily from beneath her weight. She landed right back down onto muddied grass. Before she could reattempt standing, the Anchor sent a vicious laceration into the trees that she felt through her core. She bowed into herself gasping.

"Then why were you--" Rain was getting into her eyes. Making them blur, making them burn. It was the rain. It was the  _ rain _ . Her arm snapped sidelong with a crackle, but she forced out words. "You're  _ talking _ to him?! For how long?"

"Since I've been back. And, occasionally, I would encounter him in the Fade before too...."

Lavellan felt like her lungs were stone. So all this time? The Anchor surged, singeing the wet grass around her to sizzling crisps, but she didn't even have the breath to cry out.

Cole repeated, "I won't go."

"Did he send you?" Lavellan demanded through a clenched jaw.

"No."

"How much does he know?"

"I only tell him of your well-being."

"He has no RIGHT!" Lavellan snarled. "Why should he even  _ care _ ? Why...." Her voice trembled and she hated herself for it. "Why couldn't he just ask me himself? Why does he  _ do _ this? He cares, but he  _ doesn't _ . I don't fucking get it!"

"I won't go," Cole said, sounding as if he were pleading.

Lavellan's attention jerked back to him. "What do you tell him?"

"Only enough so that he doesn't worry."

" _ Fuck _ him," she seethed, but her voice was cracking. She blinked rapidly to rid rain from her eyes. "He can't even face me, but he wants to know my business. He won't talk to me, but he'll talk to  _ you _ about me. I'm this fucked. I'm  _ this _ deeply fucked! My  _ world _ is about to be fucked. And you don't want him to  _ worry _ ?"

Because fuck her. Because it always rounded back to how Solas felt or what Solas wanted.

Cole hadn't budged. He was still watching her, keeping his distance. Smart of him. She didn't want him anywhere near her.

Once again, she'd played herself for a fool. An idiot. She had duped herself into believing Cole was on her side, that he was helping her because...because he cared or something. Moron. Stupid. He was a spirit. Spirits had no allegiances. He'd help whoever he wanted. He was incapable of 'caring' about her.

Hadn't he kept it to himself that he knew Solas was the Dread Wolf? She shouldn't have trusted him. Not before and not now.

Leliana had been right. There were sides.

"Get away from me," she grit out, fingers clutched deep into mud. "I don't need you."

"I won't go," Cole repeated.

Lavellan flung mud haphazardly in his direction. When it fell before reaching him, she dug her hands into the mud to throw more. "Get away! Get the FUCK away! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE--"

The ground swayed. Briefly, the world phased out of focus, before coming back.

Lavellan barely had time to catch herself, arm wobbling with strain as she kept herself barely upright. The Anchor was still flaring up, pain only beginning to come back as if she'd shorted out on awareness at some point. Then she remembered she was still sick. Her throat, hoarse before, was killing her now in penance for her screaming.

Her body was still trembling, rattling from the frigid air, but she felt hot. Dizzy. She suddenly ached to lie down, but knew her bed was tossed askew somewhere in the area with the rest of their gear.

Then she registered the quiet. The darkness pushing down at her, down on the Anchor's light.

Her heart skipped a beat, just before she spotted Cole's outline a few paces off.

He had his back to her.

For the first time, Lavellan realized how accustomed she had grown to him facing her. To him being within reach. To the expectation that he'd always return in the brief moments he'd be gone.

With that familiar rash of shame that always came too late after she had gone and lost her temper, Lavellan called to him.

"Cole?" she whispered, hating how small and tattered her voice came out. Her voice must have been drowned out by the rain, but somehow he heard.

"Shh." His voice combed back her panic; she felt his influence on her, further lulling her down. But it only brought her a sharper awareness of what was happening. Cole's daggers were out. Something was wrong.

Lavellan tried to stand, but her legs weren't working. They slid uselessly in the puddles around her. To make matters worse, the Anchor's pain was mounting into a steady throb. She clutched her arm and attempted to gain bearings of their surroundings. Something was out there, in the dark.

Cole was backing up now, towards her. It should have been a comfort, but she knew the action was only because whatever he was standing against was getting closer. Then, she heard them. Footsteps, falling with heavy slaps against the wet ground, weighed by the mud's suction. There was a spread of them, fanning out from one another. Approaching at a half-circle, trying to close around them.

There must have been at least a dozen.

She yelped as more magic tore loose from her arm. Cringing, she squinted into the dark, past Cole, fighting to steady herself.

It would have been too much to hope that they had happened upon a wandering caravan of travelers, who'd seen the Anchor's flashes and had come to offer assistance. But most decent folk aren't so active in the dead of night. Cole wouldn't have been on guard against most decent folk.

So she wasn't surprised to see who stepped into the edge of the Anchor's cast but brandished weapons, and a rove of uncaring gazes. Bandits, judging by their sod-quality gear and arms. Lavellan fought off a shiver, feeling practically naked clad in her base layers. Small clothes, practically. She couldn't afford to look anymore meek than she likely already did, soaked and muddied.

"It's actually her," one of them said.

"That's it, that's the mark," spoke another.

"Leave," Cole uttered, and the spur of it rolled through the air so that even Lavellan felt the nudge of it push at her.

There was quiet. And then, the steps around them only continued to push inbound.

"What'd I tell you?" another voice piped up. "On the lam from Skyhold. She's been abandoned out here."

"Oh? A stray that needs some looking after?" someone else snickered. "We'll look after you proper. My lady."

"Kitty-kitty, want to play?" This voice came from somewhere behind her and made her jump.

She turned her head to see, but couldn't make out any shapes in the dark. At least fifteen of them, she re-estimated. Cole's blades lifted slightly, poised and tense.

" _ Don't _ ," Cole said more sharply. Another wave of pressure emanated from him. As if remembering himself, he spoke softly after. "You can stop this. You can turn around."

Another pause overtook them.

"Stop this?" one of the men was murmuring. "Did...anyone else hear...?"

"We're not stopping." The one who spoke stood in front, and reverberated authority. "There's a woman for the taking, and coin to be made on her once we've had our go. Anyone stepping out now will have my sword to answer to once this is done."

She couldn't help it anymore. The Anchor let out a burst that sent her sprawling sideways into the mud with a ragged cry. The air flared with green, and Lavellan was able to glimpse a handful of shocked, fearful features before she shut her eyes and curled around herself with a grimace.

She prayed it was enough to make them rethink.

"What about that there glowy bit?" a voice argued apprehensively, playing into her hopes. "One fun poke's not worth my whole-arse dick, lad."

"You've packed mages before, right? It's the same fucking concept."

"Too tempted," Cole under a shaky breath. Although Lavellan was already dreading the worse when none of them turned around immediately. "Too many and too far. Hunkered under hurts and hurdles. They don't want to be helped anymore."

"Right, she looks so  _ fresh _ up close," a voice to Lavellan's right cackled.

Eighteen. At least.

It would have been rough odds already had she her shield, her left arm, her sword, her  _ armor _ . Cole couldn't take them all on his own. Especially not with her uselessly gnawing on dirt to mind.

Lavellan pushed herself from the ground, trying to keep her panic from rising.

Then someone said, with glee, "So who's going to fuck the Herald of Andraste first?"

Alarm spiked Lavellan's adrenaline into a high. She tried to kick her feet under her, but her knees quivered, and her ankle rolled. She fell right back down in time for the Anchor to rip her senses, dragging her down further. One of the bandits had flanked her then, reaching for her.

Fingers flew. Lavellan saw the wet shine of the blood trailed in their wake as they fell through the air under the Anchor's glow.

They dropped at Cole's feet, where he stood between her and the bandit. He flung out a swift kick on the stunned man's chest, knocking him back as he flailed and screamed.

"Oi, where the fuck did  _ he _ come from?" another bandit hollered.

Cole wasted no time in taking advantage of their surprise. He darted to the next closest bandit; with a sound like drumroll, the man was littered down his front with stab wounds. The bandit was gargling blood then, asphyxiated on the fluid in his lungs before he fell to his knees.

"It's just a boy, you idiots!" someone snapped. "Kill him!"

The skirmish began.

There was a swarm of movement barely highlighted in wet shines against the Anchor's flickering glow. The concentration of which began to rush towards Cole.

The man who'd lost his fingers was still moaning from pain on the ground. Lavellan spied his dropped sword and took it. With a bellow summoned from her gut, she forced her legs to work and launched herself at a passing warrior just as the Anchor tore open. This blast was small, but it still sent him stumbling, slipping on mud and knocking himself into several of his cohorts. The lot of them fell, swearing in disorientation and groping half-blind for their dropped weapons.

Lavellan, even with pain like her arm was actively shredding into ribbons, flipped back onto her feet with sword still in hand.

She clashed blades with the next bandit to cross her path. The clang of their swords sent a vicious ring up her ungloved hand, but she ducked from the follow-through of his swing. She was quick enough to whirl about with a return throw, lodged her blade in that split soft point where his armor opened just enough at his inner elbow.

As he screamed, she heeled his shoulder to free her sword in time to meet one of the men risen from her prior Anchor blast.

The rain stung her eyes. Her sword arm ached from the sudden overexertion after disuse. Her knees wobbled to keep her upright. Her frame was wracked with fatigue. All the while, the Anchor had not let up its surging, rolling vice of her nerves. And still. Lavellan was moving in offense.

This feeling was different than sparring. It charged her. Sharpened her.

She dug her toes into the mud, overcome with the strangest light feeling in her chest, like she'd become a child again, and as if this were mere play.

Then, the Anchor flared.

It spiraled into her arm, and she dropped her sword, dropped herself. The flash had caused some of the bandits to back away from her, but as soon as the light retracted back, they only saw her, open and vulnerable. She was gasping for breath, groping for her sword back.

One eagerly rushed to seize her.

Lavellan could only gape, rooted in place.

" _ No _ !" she heard Cole shout.

Warm-- nearly hot-- liquid splattered onto her cold limbs. She saw the dark spray stemmed from the sellsword's neck. Saw him take a bewildered step back. Then Cole was in front of her, heaving her to her feet.

"Run," he commanded, and suddenly her legs felt bolstered.

He took her hand and bolted with her into the trees.

They tore through the brush so quickly, that Lavellan had to shut her eyes for the amount of low branches and tall bush that scratched at her face.

She began coughing as they went, winded and throat-strained and choking on the heavy downpour. Twice, she tripped, once over a root and another over her own feet, but Cole in his sprint simply yanked her upright so that she immediately stumbled back into pace with him.

She could hear the bandits at their heels, slashing the brush just behind them, coming up on their sides to cut them off. Cole darted right suddenly, catching a bandit by the throat with his blade as he towed Lavellan along.

She fell against his back, gasping as the Anchor surged, but otherwise didn't protest when he continued pulling her through branches and bushes, trying to find a way too difficult for them to be followed through. She tried as best she could to keep up, but her body was barely cooperating. As if the bandits weren't enough. As if the lay of the land wasn't enough. Lavellan knew it was that much more difficult for him to have to move her limbs for her, untangling her from nettles and vines.

It would have been better to leave her.

She knew the moment he heard that thought. Because he turned to look back at her.

Before he could respond to it though, the Anchor lit up and sent Lavellan falling to her knees in a skid with a strangled yell. Not skipping a beat, Cole was ducking under her arm, forcing her back to her feet, carrying her. They couldn't afford to slow down. Then, she felt like she was floating, like they were taking flight.

The Anchor exploded.

She was tumbling through air. Disoriented and grasping, screaming as pain raced pathways through her frame. Then she hit the ground with a hard splash, choking briefly before she could figure out which way was up. Water above, and water below. She groped haphazardly, panic threading into her consciousness when she thought about how close Cole had been to her that time.

" _ Cole _ ," she groaned, coughing as she pushed mud from under her.

"I'm here," Cole said, immediately with her again. He pulled her from the ground. He allowed her to put her hand on him, to look him up and down for injuries, in the light glow from the very thing that betrayed them. He told her, "I'm alright."

No, but he wasn't. His face was scraped up from the blast. He was bleeding from his chin.

She had hurt him.

"I won't go," Cole told her.

Rain, she thought. Her eyes were welled up with water, and she was hiccuping on her breaths. It was from the rain.

She had told him to leave in the first place. There was no reason at this point to lug her around like this. But before she could voice it again, he was pulling her to him. The next thing she knew, she was being carried as he ran.

He weaved through the trees with better speed now. But the bandits were still gaining, not encumbered with the same exploding dead weight that Cole was. Lavellan wasn't even running anymore and she was still winded and dizzy. And they were still outnumbered. And the Anchor-- Lavellan cringed bodily as it flared, feeling more guilty knowing she was just hampering Cole's ability to run even more.

"Hunger, but twisted. Grappling, grasping, grating for grinding. She's a slip of thing-- look at those pretty legs-- pin her down-- Maker bet she's sweet--" Cole's face contorted. "No.  _ No _ . They mustn't! They  _ won't _ ."

His words finally pried Lavellan from her disorientation.

They must have been close for Cole to be tuning to them like that. She tossed her left arm over the back of his shoulder. And there. She could see the brush moving behind them, the green light of her arm glinting off the sharpness of swords and daggers tearing through. Lavellan aimed.

It had been a while since she'd done an intentional discharge, but she remembered how.

The Anchor's light brightened, the energy building into a quiver as she struggled to hold her arm steady. The bandits chasing them, frenzied from the hunt, took no caution and only ran them down harder as their lead shrank.

Lavellan waited for them to get close, waited until more were gathered on their heels. She waited until she could hear the ring of their blades sliding through air. Until she could pick them out from their individual facial features. Until she could smell them, in spite of the rain.

She squeezed Cole slightly, girding herself for the recoil. She felt Cole squeeze her in return. Then she released.

The explosion of magic cracked nearby trees into a bow, flattened bush, and spread the brush around them. It tore into her arm, like a mangled vice and she dug her teeth into her shoulder in a scream. In the blind of it, she was able to see the bodies fly, some in pieces.

Cole had caught air, but timed his steps so that he was simply leaping in stride. He landed with barely a stumble.

Only in the faded crackle, as the stun of the blast wore off, did she finally hear the shrieks of pain. She was still biting her shoulder hard, shaking terribly from the pain, as the Anchor simply flared back to mad, crackling brightness. Practically lighting the way for the others to catch up.

She had counted four, maybe five, in the blast total. Three definitely too hurt to chase. Still too many left.

Swearing intermingled with the shouts behind them. It wasn't business or depravity driving them at this point-- they were pissed. She'd costed them men. 

If they were to capture her, there wouldn't be any mercy.

"I won't go," she heard Cole mumbling. His voice sounded distant from her, despite the gust of his breath brushing her ear. "I won't go."

He tore sideways suddenly, veering to throw them off track. The grade in this direction was much steeper. He had to throw them sideways to skid on both his heels and a elbow to keep them from outright rolling down the hillside. He was trying to bury the Anchor's glow under layers of foliage, she realized.

Their descent was only halted as the mark itself began flaring again. Lavellan had shrieked. For the wake of pain, she was barely aware of Cole dragging under the crooked trunk of a fallen tree. He was pushing her Anchored arm flat, bending it away from them.

Then, she was aware of her air being cut.

Cole's hand was clamped over her nose and mouth, allowing no passage whatsoever through. He was crouched over her, pinning her down. Her Anchored arm was being knelt upon, cutting off whatever feeling wasn't pain.

When it surged, Cole bore down, unmoving as it ripped through her and ripped through the ground beside them and sent a surf of earth sprung to the air. She couldn't scream for how Cole's hand was locked firmly against any escape, but her lungs heaved as if she could, as agony crawled and clawed inside her. She must have been twisting wildly under him, but found herself unbudged at the end of it.

It was then her need to breathe began overtaking the pain.

She tried moving her head, but Cole's hand held her. She tried pulling out from under him, but Cole's weight trapped her.

Lavellan's eyes flew up to catch Cole's, panic rising as she grabbed at his sleeve.

Air.

He stared back, staying atop of her.

_ Air _ .

She tried whacking at his arm, but her weak hits barely shook his armor layer.

_ Cole--! _

_ Father will hear. Father will find us. We must not let him. We must not. _

Her vision was going out. Her ears were ringing. Her head was throbbing her pulse. Her hand dropped and she was unsure of where it fell.

She thought then, jarringly, of how she'd found Solas asking Cole for information about her in the Fade. About how Leliana had warned her. What did her needs look like, to a spirit? What was Lavellan to Cole?

And yet....

The Cole she knew had gotten them this far.

He insisted she eat more and tricked her into carrying the lighter loads. He only ever spoke gently to her, mindful of both her inner wounds as well as her physical ones. He deciphered her needs before she even knew what they were, paid attention to her wants and likes, and at the end of all her fits and uncontrollable magic and mess, he stayed.

She simply hadn't thought of him as someone who could kill her.

His hand jerked back as if burned.

Lavellan immediately pulled for air, heaving raggedly and then coughing at the rainwater that saturated each mouthful. The pounding in her head was ebbing with every breath, and her vision slowly settled in the unstable light of the Anchor on Cole's face.

He was still crouched over her, still staring at her, except he looked hollowed. Shattered.

"I didn't mean to," he told her in a shaken, broken whisper. "I just needed you quiet. Only for a little while. I didn't want you to--  _ never _ wanted you to-- I just needed you  _ quiet _ ."

Lavellan still couldn't speak. Her throat felt so shot. She herself felt like she was on the verge of collapse, keyed back up only by jolts from the Anchor. And even if she could speak, what was there to say? And even if there were words, she definitely wouldn't be the one to know them.

Cole's voice became more frantic. "These hands already knew. This has happened before. He held her like that-- squeezing so tight, just to keep them hidden, but then she-- I didn't mean to-- I was only trying to--"

She grasped his shirt, tugging herself upright at the same time tugging him lower. She pushed up, nudging his forehead with her own, and shut her eyes. Because she understood. Because she was sorry  _ too _ . Because tonight was fucked all sorts of sideways, and she had no words.

But, she did have an idea.

She looked to him as it passed.

" _ No _ ," was Cole's immediate answer as he met her gaze with wide eyes. "I'd never. I can't. I--" His voice turned desperate. "I  _ need _ to help you."

"You will," Lavellan said with all the certainty she could muster from the hoarseness of her voice. "By myself, I can buy time. And by  _ your _ self, you're fast. You'll bring  _ back _ help. Won't you?"

"No, but you're preparing," Cole protested, and the anguish in his words caused something in her chest to twist. "You're  _ preparing _ ."

"I'm bracing! There's a difference."

"I hear 'em!" a voice rang out, cutting through distance. "Down this way!"

They both turned sharply, trying to gauge how much time they had. No matter what, it wouldn't be much. Lavellan tugged on Cole's shirt to turn his attention back to her.

"Cole, please," she begged.

He stared at her, breaths trembling. He shook his head.

With as much need as she could convey, she told him, "Help me."

Cole gaped, seemingly at a loss. Lavellan felt despair creep over her, at the thought of them both being felled by bandits in the wilderness of Ferelden. Then his eyes fell shut, and it was as if he had fully withdrawn from her. There was no comfort emanating off him, and even his body against hers suddenly lacked any hint of warmth.

When he opened his eyes again, they were void. Serene. Cold. Clear.

He said, "I will."

Then, he was gone.

Lavellan blinked as rainfall filled the space of where he used to be. Frigid air rushed around her, and she was all at once aware of tremors rattling her entire frame. In her hand, where she had wrung Cole's shirt in her fingers, she now instead clasped one of Cole's daggers. Other than that, it was as if he'd never been there to begin with.

Her hands were trembling. Her breaths were moving in stutters between her chattering teeth.

From the cold, she convinced herself. From the pain raging from the Anchor, coursing through her in terrible waves. From adrenaline. From fatigue. From strain. From anything, any of those reasons she'd take. Any of them were better than the emotion she refused to acknowledge that was pooling in the base of her gut, feeding her ideas of what would happen to her next; she shook it off and stuffed it down.

_ All else fails, I can explode, _ she reminded herself, trying to find a grip that would hold the dagger steady.

Cole had described it as a dance.

She could do this.

A twig snapped nearby.

As her eyes met the astonished eyes of a bandit moved into the clearing, the next moment was saturated in a pulsed boost of hyperfocus, counted in heartbeats.

_ One _ , and Lavellan was throwing herself over the other side of the log as the bandit lunged towards her.  _ Two _ , as the bandit rounded the tree to reach her, she stabbed up from under him. The danger tore clean through the space of his jaw bone, through his cheek.  _ Three _ , and she tore his face open as she reared back and tore away from him, left him screaming in the dark behind her.

The screams were unhinged and enraged, sending a ravage of chills through her. She cursed herself for not getting his throat.

With newfound strength, she part-rolled, part-skidded, and part-mad dashed down the land decline.

Whatever Lavellan was running on now, it wasn't enough, and it was fading quickly. The rain dragged her down, and the cold stiffened her limbs. Her feet were slipping, her knees were barely supporting her now. Her lungs felt ravaged. And despite the rain's chill soaking her through, she felt nauseously overheated.

But she didn't dare pause. She forced one foot forward after the other, kept her gait long, and kept her arm extended to catch herself on trunk trees to propel herself onward.

She could hear the rest of the bandits piling fast behind her, fanning out to encircle her and cut off her escape. She practically saw them through the foliage as they passed her, caught their leering grins as they looked her on.

The Anchor pulsed, light blooming in an emanating rush-- and Lavellan cut it off, nearly blind from the pain.

_ Not yet, _ she willed it. The magic thrashed, but she curtailed it so that it only flickered defiantly.  _ Not yet. _

It was its light that saved her, if only in seconds. She barely spotted the shadow moving from the trees in front of her, if not for the Anchor glinting off the wet edges of the bandit's shape. He made a grab for her, and she ducked under to skid past his reach.

Another of them was upon her as she was maneuvering from the ground. Similar to the one she'd stabbed through the face, she made an upward slash. This one, she got in the throat. His blood sprayed over her, its warmth melting into her numbed limbs.

More had come by then.

Lavellan was swaying on her feet, but she grit her teeth and charged to break their line. Metal clanged as she haphazardly brought the dragger against an axe blade, and the reverberation sent pins and needles up the bones in her right arm. Someone grabbed her outstretched elbow. She tried to kick them away, but her foot was caught and held as well.

The Anchor's magic had begun to thrash.

_ Not yet, _ she thought, keeping the thrash within her and feeling it frying her from the inside.

Someone laughed cruelly. She was hacking on phlegm as she felt another pair of hands grab hold of her torso, as she felt her other foot get kicked from under her. Lavellan plunged Cole's dagger blindly. A rush of gratification filled her when she felt it pass deep through cloth and flesh, when she heard the gruff scream ring out.

She was punched in the face, and lost grip of the dagger thereafter.

Another blow followed. Then another, that knocked the world...loose. She blinked, stunned as sound became muted, and as her sight became hazy. She felt her body drop limp around her.

The only clarity she had then was the Anchor, mounting and raging.

_ Not yet. _

She was put on the ground, rain nearly drowning her as it rushed upon her face in torrents. She saw shadows crowding around her, felt the heat of too many bodies. She smelled body musk and she wanted to vomit.

Vaguely, hopelessly, she wondered where Cole's dagger had gone. She remembered it. She remembered having it made for him. She remembered finding the schematics for it by chance in the Deep Roads. The fact that it was the one Cole had chosen to leave for her couldn't have been coincidence, could it?

Oh, she thought distantly, but she had yelled at Cole. All he ever did was try to help, and all she ever did was snap at him.

That was why he could leave her behind, wasn't it?

Her left arm was being pinned sideways, pointed away as it surged and flickered, and she clamped it down, trimmed it off from the small flares that did escape. _ Not yet. _

The men were all laughing now. She saw their teeth. She smelled their breath. Her vision blurred, and it was from the rain. She would swear again and again that it was from the rain.

All the decisions she'd made as the Inquisitor...not all of them were good.

No matter her choice, someone somewhere suffered from the consequence of her actions.

That was how it became corrupted, wasn't it?

...Hands on her. Her clothes were being ripped.

While she was with her clan, all she ever did was cause trouble for everyone else. What was wrong with her? She never had an answer, just anger that built over the years in the wake of never knowing how to be right, for once.

The Anchor's magic was brimming, clawing outward, clawing back inward upon Lavellan's allowance of no outlet. It swung back into her, swung back out, building momentum with each ricochet, until it became vibration, stirring and churning and coiling into a tight spring, rattling through her. She felt the magic in her  _ veins _ . In her bones. Eating away at her. Still, she clung to it.

The sky was disappearing in the mass of shadows above her.

Maybe whatever use the Inquisition could get out of her, was all she had. Maybe whatever use Solas could get out of her, was all she could offer. Maybe her life was never really worth that much, after all.

Maybe all these bad things happened...because she deserved them.

Her legs were being forced apart.

_ Now. _

All the world went bright, went green. Went blank.


	8. Charged

She was running through the woods, small and wild, slashing apart the tall grass with a stick.

The summertime grounds had all the best playing spots. Even on oppressively hot days like this, she'd go amok from light up to light dimming. Even better, it was the busy season, so all the elders were too consumed in their task work to be bothered with corralling her and having her mind their expectations.

She tore through the brush, diving into tucked rolls. She leapt, running up leaning trees until the branches grew too sparse, and then she would jump and swing off of them instead, swinging the stick in her hand at the leaves as she went. A few times, she thought she could feel someone watching. But whenever she looked, there was no one around. So she would shrug off the feeling and continue her play.

She felt as if she was playing forever. For days, it was like.

Until, more and more, she became aware of an odd weight forming in her chest. It grew until it fatigued her to continue to carry it. And she tucked herself away in hiding, curled herself up in her favorite hollowed tree stump.

She began to cry.

Wind and sweat in her hair. Clothes sticking to her in the humidity. Salt and dirt on her lips when she licked them. Squinting up at the midday sun. Grasshoppers bouncing from her footfall. Spinning in circles until she got dizzy. Camp food cooking close by. The rumble of halla hooves as they moved across the landscape.

Why did it all feel so far and sad?

The wood around her creaked. She looked up and gasped, startled to find six red eyes gleaming at her from a shifting, shadowed form.

"What has happened?" the Dread Wolf asked her. When she could only gape at him, he said, "Vhenan?"

Then, she remembered. She was grown again. Her left arm was gone-- gone, and yet still hurting.  _ She _ was hurting. Her clothes were tattered. She felt...like none of her body was hers. Nausea rose in her throat. She blinked, and more tears fell from her eyes.

"Vhenan."

The wolf was shrinking, colors falling off him like autumn leaves, until it was Solas there. His eyes were plaintive, beseeching. He was leaning towards her now.

She was more aware of her breaths becoming suddenly tight than she was of her back pressing hard into the bark behind her. Her fingernails were hurting before she could realize she was clawing into the calloused wood of the stump. But he was already inside her in essence. She had already given herself up, in more ways than any sane person would have.

Worse still, the fact that she couldn't even bring herself to tell him to stop anymore.

Still, Solas began to reach for her.

Her stomach lurched. Her mind was screaming.

"Ellana," he said, in his voice. His voice. His voice she could have died for, just to hear again.

She couldn't take it. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take it.

Before Solas could touch her, a fist closed tight around his wrist. Cole was suddenly there.

" _ Don't _ ," he said.

Solas looked as if he were about to pose argument. But if more words were spoken, they were unheard by Lavellan. The dream had begun to whisk.

  
  
  


She was breathing in chilly air, rolling slightly as she stirred. She noted the scents of spice and ale around her.

Several layers of sheets were tugged with her, loosing the warmth that her body heat had gathered underneath. The world was rocking around her, rocking her along with it, lulling her back towards slumber. She would have gone if not for her suddenly cold feet.

With a rush of awareness, Lavellan bolted upright.

She found herself blinking at...another elf, sitting across the way. Someone she knew.

The other woman gave Lavellan a once over in return. "Hey, you. You're finally awake."

"Skinner?" Lavellan said as the name came to mind.

Skinner nodded, and though her expression gave little to nothing away, she seemed somewhat pleased.

They were in a wagon, one with an awning. Lavellan recognized Maryden and Krem sitting at the front, reigning the nuggalope pulling them along. Walking alongside them, the lumbering figure of none other than  _ the _ Iron Bull.

He'd whipped around, and as his eyes met hers, Lavellan felt a flood of delight.

"Boss!" he exclaimed, and all it took was a huge step backward and he'd matched his pace to where she was sitting. He looked her over, a grin breaking across his face. "How do you feel? Still hurting anywhere? You hungry at all? Eat something. Bet you could use a few drinks, too, ha! Water first, though."

Ahead, Lavellan thought she heard Krem snort loudly. But then, as she took in her surroundings, dread began to replace her earlier joy.

"I-- I can't be here," she said, attempting to pull herself up. But she felt too light-headed. Weak. "Bull, all of you are in danger."

"Hey. Stop with all that." A large hand fell upon her shoulder and kept her from attempting to stand again. "And settle down before you hurt yourself. No one's in danger."

"But--"

"Boss. Look."

Bull nudged his chin in her direction, eyes cast down slightly, indicating she follow. When Lavellan looked down at the Anchor, she saw that it was only giving off the barest glow. Less active than she'd seen it in a while. And though there was a slight pin-prick darting up her arm, it was only in traces. It was as if the Anchor had gone dormant, or something close to that.

She still felt too uneasy to lean on that thought, but her panic subsided just a bit at least.

"That explosion you set off must have discharged enough magic that it's calmed down. Hopefully, for a while." Bull frowned, scratching the back of his head in disconcertment. "Arm's a bit shorter than I remember it, though."

She'd noticed before he even spoke it. Whereas Solas had left her arm in tact just above her elbow, even less of it remained now. The new length ended half-way up her bicep. It was no longer any wonder why she was consumed with pain whenever the Anchor began to act up. It was literally eating her.

Her mind felt too numb to really react with much of anything aside from a deep, sinking feeling centered at the pit of her stomach.

"I had the idea that maybe you just had to discharge enough times, get it out of your system somehow-- you know, like in the Crossroads," Bull told her solemnly. He scoffed, embitterment weighted in the sound. "Things can't ever be simple. It's never worked that way, for anything."

She had been in too much pain to notice before. Or maybe it was that the explosion may have simply released so much magic that it was proportionate to how much of her arm had been burned away with it, and that was what made it so noticeable now. Either way was a sentencing of her fate.

What would happen once the magic reached her lungs, her heart? Would she remain alive, slowly growing more disfigured with what little time she had left?

Lavellan couldn't help but wonder if she preferred that, or the instantaneous death-by-blowing-up ending she'd been anticipating all this time.

She looked back to Bull. "How long--"

Before she could continue, a fig lodged itself between her jaws. She found herself blinking bewilderedly as Iron Bull's hand retracted from her.

"Eat first," he said.

Lavellan removed the fig. "But--"

"Eat."

"Where--"

" _ Eat _ ."

"Bull!"

"Boss."

He met her stare head on, with a look of stubbornness that likely matched her own. Lavellan grit her teeth, ready to argue on principle--

"You might as well indulge him, your Worship," Krem called from the front of the wagon. Just like Bull, Krem had never quite let go of her old Inquisition titles. Although, unlike Bull, it felt less out of habit and more out of nostalgia. Krem glanced backward to her, flashing a wry grin. "He's not going to stop."

When Lavellan looked over, she noticed Maryden's music had gained an odd lilt, and the bard's shoulders seemed to be shaking. On the other end of the wagon, Skinner seemed to be hiding a smile behind her hand.

"It's true," Skinner agreed. "He ought to have named himself Iron Hen, what with how he is."

" _ The _ Iron Hen," Bull interjected with some bluster. "At least keep the 'the'. Anyway, boss, just try to get something down. You've been out for a couple days now."

"Days?!" Lavellan exclaimed."What--"

Bull thudded the wood of the wagon with his knuckles, and Lavellan felt the bump of it even though she was sitting on the other side. He gave her a pointed side-glance.

Irritation rubbed at her, for the fact that she knew from experience he wouldn't let up. Bull, indeed. Begrudgingly, she twisted off the fig's stem, and bit into it.

And begrudgingly...she reveled.

Despite not having even thought of eating before, sating her hunger was what made her abruptly hyperaware of it. The fig was perfectly ripe, to boot-- just the right amount of sweet versus tart. And given the early season, the skin was still thin so that her teeth easily sunk through. Lavellan had to wipe the dribble of juices off her chin as she took another hearty bite.

By the time she had tossed the stem, the fruit was near gone.

"Drink some water, too," Bull told her.

Lavellan hadn't even realized before, but her canteen was laid right next to her bedding. Had it always been there? She was sure she would have remembered nudging the cold metal, if so. Unless it had only been recently placed. Had it?

There was something...she was forgetting.

Someone?

She had a notion to look over her shoulder despite knowing full well no one was there. The uneasy feeling didn't leave as she swigged from her canteen.

"Easy," Bull told her.

She rolled her eyes at him, heaving a lungful of air as she broke from the canteen.

Huh. There was...a peach. In her lap. That hadn't been there before. It hadn't. Right?

A strange urge prodded at her then.  _ Eat _ .

So she did. She liked peaches.

Biting into the peach carried her away in the same manner as the fig. It had been a long winter, indeed. The sugary flesh did wonders in distracting her from other pressing thoughts, and frankly, it was welcome. Lavellan slumped against the wagon side, propping her arm onto the rail to watch the scenery go by.

The air was chilly enough to see her breath, but bearable with the warm blanket wrapped around her. The clothes that had been put on her were decent for retaining her body heat. With her feet tucked close, she could keep them from going numb.

"Gotta say, you still know how to put on a damn good light show," Bull remarked, satisfied after watching her take a few more bites of the peach.

Lavellan glanced at him. "Is that how you found me?"

"Somewhat. You were kind of firing off pretty frequently. It was hard to miss." Bull frowned, gaze turning hard. "Sorry we couldn't make it sooner. I know...it must have been rough."

Iron Bull had been with her in the Crossroads the final time. He'd seen firsthand, along with Cole and Dorian, exactly how bad the explosions were, especially in succession. He'd been caught a few times in those same blasts. It was why she was surprised that he, of all people, was fine with her being so close. With the Chargers, on top of it. He knew how damaging the Anchor was, and he'd seen again.

"You don't need to feel sorry for me," she muttered.

Bull scoffed, clapping his hand on the rail. She was jostled by the reverberation of the impact through the wood. "Right, I know. I know."

But there was still an uncharacteristic droop in his shoulders, a sort of weight about how he carried himself that bothered her. If there was one thing she'd appreciated about Bull, it was how he didn't get stuck being down on himself. He would decide on a different course of action, and then go do it. Or, have someone hit him with a stick.

Lavellan lacked a stick. But, she did have a peach pit.

She flung it at him. It made a knocking sound as it ricocheted off one of his horns, and that in combination with his incredulous stare as he whirled around was what made it impossible for her to hide the grin that split her face then.

Behind her, Skinner whistled. Maryden glanced back at them curiously, having missed what had happened. While Krem beside her, only shook his head and exhaled, without even needing to look.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be then," Iron Bull said. He dropped his pace, circling the rear of the wagon to the other side, where he began to dig into the equipment stashes. A few things rolled from their place with a clatter.

"Pretty sure it's how it always is," she fired back, not the least bit cowed.

There was no warning before something was being tossed her way. On pure instinct, she surprised even herself by catching it. A wooden shield-- the kind Krem and Bull practiced rounds of shieldbashing with. When she looked up, Bull had a shield of his own. He was beating it against the wagon so that the whole cart was jostled. Notably, none of the Chargers seemed the least bit concerned.

"Finish what you start, boss," Iron Bull declared.

Something bloomed in her chest then, like a fire caught to dried timber, all-consumed and instant. She stood up, shedding the blanket.

"Boots," Skinner said, jutting her thumb to point them out, and otherwise not budging from her reclined sitting place.

Lavellan found her boots-- along with the rest of her daywear and personal effects-- not too far from her bed spread. She slipped them on, and just like that, she was pushing her shield against the wagon railing and flipping herself onto the road to square off with the Iron Bull.

He was rolling his shoulders, making a show of being flippant. "So, how about--"

She gave him no courtesy of concluding that statement, rushing forward into his shield with the practiced secession of thigh-powered strides ingrained into her muscle memory. The recoil bore through her frame, made her ears ring. The woodgrain of the shields ground together as Bull met her eyes.

His pupils were dilating as he curved over her, forcing his overbearing weight onto her with the angle. And as her knees wobbled from strain, he began to laugh.

"You are just so  _ ballsy _ !" he exclaimed with glee. "Haven't changed a bit!"

"Just this one," Lavellan quipped, wiggling her left arm.

She shifted her ankles, rolling out from under him before the full brunt of his mass could crush her. Dust flew as he collided with the ground. She figured he wouldn't be pulling his punches. Bull just wasn't that way.

Bearing a shield with her right arm was both foreign, and yet familiar at the same time. To be practical, she had begun training her body to be used to wielding a sword alone. But sword swinging required finesse. The draw of the shield for her had always been that she couldn't mess it up. Shields were made to take a beating. Hold it in front, and let it do its job.

She did just that when Bull came after her, cleaving a furrow into the road where he hadn't picked his shield up entirely as he immediately dashed forward to meet her again.

Her feet weren't grounded on time. As their shields collided, she felt the impact move through her. And then she was thrown entirely. Quickly, Lavellan corrected her stance in the air, plunging her heels into the dirt. Still, the force of Bull's blow had been enough that by the time she'd stopped skidding, she'd passed ahead of even the nuggalope.

Maryden and Krem paused in their conversation to observe her.

"Chief," Krem said then, in a drawn out tone of warning.

"Yeah, yeah!" Bull dismissed. "I'm being careful, okay?"

But the grin on his face said otherwise, and it widened as she threw herself whole-bodied into his shield again. They broke only briefly to drive their shields against each other once more, inspiring an air-splitting crack as the wood smacked together.

Bull didn't pause, instead moving forward to throw Lavellan off balance again. But this time, she rooted her stance. Or tried. Her form was proper, but the Iron Bull was just  _ huge _ . What ended up happening was him pushing her back, like she were a crate, her tracks digging lines into the road.

"Sure, enjoy your time before Stitches gets back, then," Krem told Bull as the two passed in their walking stalemate.

Despite her body already straining, Lavellan was grateful for the fact that Bull wouldn't go easy on her for the sake of being reasonable. In a way, she'd been yearning for this. An opportunity to go all-out, in  _ her _ own way that had nothing to do with the Anchor. A chance to not feel fragile. To be reminded of a time when she didn't hate everything as much as she felt like she always did now.

"Where  _ are _ the others?" Lavellan asked. "Doing a job?"

Just as she figured, Bull took that as an opening. She surprised him by hunkering fast. His attempt to disarm her of her shield merely glanced off her firm hold. And it was in this that she had  _ her _ opening. She slammed her full face of her shield against the rim of his, forcing his arm to follow-through with its earlier motion. At that point, he was fair game.

She bashed forward, going for his unprotected torso.

The only thing that saved him was his right arm, hulked and with enough constitution to not break under the brunt of a wooden shield. Lavellan only had a half-breath to back-step out of reach before his left arm, bearing his shield, could collide with her.

"They'll be along shortly, milady Lavellan," Maryden let her know as Lavellan passed the front of the wagon again.

Iron Bull caught up fast and before she could respond to Maryden, she found herself locked in another stalemate, joints strained hot and muscles tight and trembling.

Bull, who overlooked nothing, grinned down at her. "Don't tell me you're winded already."

He feinted left, but she read him. She let him see her step left, to make him think she'd been had. But when he collapsed the full force of his drive to the right, she followed through on her footwork and allowed him to fall past her. They'd traded stations again.

"That's more like it!" Iron Bull egged on. "Here I was, thinking you'd gone soft on me."

Lavellan scoffed haughtily, bluffing with her toothiest grin. "You were hoping. Dragging me out of a bedridden state because you were so desperate for any upperhand you could find? Are you  _ scared _ of me, Bull?"

Bull's response came in the form of a charge. Lavellan clenched her jaw to keep herself from being sent airborne. She had no lyrium to feed strength from, and barely any strength with how she was. But somehow, that only lit her determination brighter.

They continued on, sparring alongside the moving wagon. As far as Lavellan could tell, they were following the spine of the Frostbacks, conveniently trekking the same direction she had intended, if she'd remained alone.

Alone?

"Hey. Bull." Lavellan was loath to admit it, but she was starting to struggle with her breathing. "What are you traveling this way for anyway?"

"Business," Bull said simply, not trusting her innocuous attempts at conversation anymore.

He tried sidestepping her vanguard, but it was in maneuverability that his bulk worked against him. Lavellan spun with him easily and fended off his attempt to flank.

"And...you just figured you'd take me along?" Lavellan pressed.

"Why not? We were headed south, and you were headed south."

Lavellan raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was headed south?"

"Cole," Bull replied simply.

_ Cole _ . The name struck through her like a chord strummed in her thoughts and reverberating everything she'd forgotten in sudden full sound.

Lavellan's gaze snapped to the rear of the wagon where she suddenly knew to find him sitting. His legs were hung over the backend, hat brim obscuring most his features so that she only saw slices of pale from his hair and his skin. But so, he was. Whole and unharmed and  _ there _ .

He wasn't looking at her.

Since he'd first made his presence known to her-- even when they'd first met, she remembered seeing him walking amongst the templars and wondering to herself what a mage was doing there-- he'd never cloaked himself from her. The fact that he had just done so, the knotted feeling it pulled from her gut-- a sunken crawl that morphed into a waver upon reaching her throat-- suddenly made even the distance between them now too much.

She was realizing how easy it actually would be for him to leave her. And moreover, leave her none the wiser.

And despite knowing it would have been for the better, despite knowing she had insisted and should insist still for it, she instead found her breath seized, as if even the acknowledgement of a moment passed would only be a moment closer to the next time he disappeared.

Cole looked up then, right at her.

Lavellan opened her mouth, but froze up before she could call out to him.

The next thing she knew, she was sent stumbling, feet rolling against the graveled dirt before she could regain stance. Her arm pulsed warm from the shock of the impact. Across from her, Iron Bull flashed his teeth in a sneer.

"Come on, what was that?" he goaded. "Leaving yourself open like some kind of amateur?"

The taunt sent a sharp rush up to her temples that begged retaliation. But a knot remained in her stomach. She spared a glance, somewhat frantically, back to the wagon. Back to where Cole sat.

To where he still was.

Still, when Bull came at her next, she was ready to receive-- just enough give, just the right sidestep, just the exact angle-- and she burst forward with all the strength in her legs.

It would never have been enough to send Bull off-balance, but it did take him off guard. And it bought her enough time to rear back, and to charge forward with a follow-up blow. As Bull took a split second to contemplate his choices, she took that same to throw another glance in Cole's direction.

She would do this as she and Bull continued to trade bashes and danced around one another.

Cole wouldn't look at her again. But he also remained, exactly where he was.

Lavellan's need to check began to ease, if only slightly.

  
  
  


It ended when Lavellan fell against Bull's shield, though it had started as a charge on her part. Iron Bull stayed still, supporting her weight with their shields between them.

"Alright," he said, briskly shed of the battle heat she was still doused and dizzy from. He wasn't exactly smiling, but there was still a contentedness about him as he looked her over. "We're good."

Lavellan's hair was matted from the sweat she'd worked up. Her gasps-- pulled in chilled and crisp, and heaved out heated and wet-- were not enough, even as wide as she opened her mouth for air. Her heart fluttered rapidly against her lungs, the beat of it making her ears ring and her vision shift.

In contrast, Bull was not nearly as worn out. His breath remained steady, and his skin matte.

It gnawed at her.

"I'm up for one more round if you are," she persisted.

"Nope," he replied, and then he picked her up, and swung her easy as a pillow sack back onto the carriage.

She landed right on her bedding pile, and admittedly was too tired to even grouse about it. The sparring shields were thrown in after her. One landed in the nest of equipment by Skinner. The other barely missed it, though Skinner raised a swift hand to catch it before it went over the side of the wagon.

"Try not to overexert yourself," Skinner told Lavellan when she caught her eye. She shrugged, tossing the shield so that it fell into proper place with the rest of the equipment. "Not that I'm one to tell you what to do. I'm just passing along Stitches' word."

"Oh, before I forget-- here's this back." Iron Bull knocked on the wood rail next to Lavellan to draw her attention back. She didn't even have to budge as he was already holding the item of discussion above her face where she could see.

It took barely a moment for her to recognize the message crystal dangling from its metal chain. She was grasping it before she could even think to not be so overeager.

"That thing would've gone off forever if I hadn't picked up for you," Bull explained.

"Oh. Yeah...." Lavellan felt a prickle of guilt, along with a foreboding dread as she dropped the chain around her neck. After a moment of hesitation, she ended up tucking the crystal into her shirt; she'd put off a chat with Dorian for a bit longer.

Bull chortled. "Hey, I talked him down as much as I could, but it didn't really help, considering the circumstance. You're seriously in for it. Just a heads up."

"Thanks for trying," Lavellan said wryly.

He waved the notion off, picking up his pace to check in with Krem and Maryden towards the front.

It wasn't any surprise that Dorian would react with any lack of self-restraint. And though she understood, it still didn't make dealing with it any easier, especially at the thought of trying to temper his emotions when she'd barely processed her own. Still, out of respect for him, she knew she should contact him as soon as possible.

But first....

Minding the wobble of the moving wagon, Lavellan made her way towards where Cole was.

She wondered if he was angry with her, if he would have preferred to have stayed unknown by her. She wondered what still held him here. She remembered the look on his face as he'd held her throat closed, and the look he had when he released her. She remembered the things she'd said that night, the feelings she'd had then that she knew he would have picked up on, ugly as they were.

She sat next to him, letting her feet dangle off the end of the wagon.

The road passed them underneath, as clouds passed them above. To the west, the Frostbacks changed in angle and shape. And to the east, the expanse seemed to go on forever in bared wild grass, shining from the early day's melted frost. The world moved around them, continuing to turn. And for a while, it could be as if nothing significant had happened between them at all.

"Too close to the fire in the snow, or too early in the lake at summertime," Cole murmured. "Mixed, but not blended. Cold, but sweating. Hot, but shivering. I think I'm ill. Jumbled, jangled, jostled; and just like that, he looks at me. I hope I remember to laugh."

Lavellan waited.

After a beat, Cole's head tilted somewhat. "Was it that funny? Whatever you saw?"

At first, she had no idea what he was on about.

Then, only after thinking his words over, did she remember laying down in the tent when she'd first gotten sick, telling him her realization, and him-- normally so patient and kind and forgiving-- just staring at her like she must've been the daftest creature he'd ever encountered.

A snort escaped before she could help it.

"No," she said futilely.

Obviously he knew the truth.

Likely, it was why he even brought it up to begin with. Lavellan swung her feet at the thought, pointing her smile downward, too sheepish about it to look up. For a while, neither of them said anything.

"Do I...help?" Cole asked then, barely audible.

"All the time," she answered, just as quietly or perhaps even more so. She felt exposed saying it, too soft and open and prey-like, but she forced herself. " _ Every _ time."

He made a low hum in his throat, but his eyes looked a bit brighter as he surveyed the passing fields. He told her, "I won't go."

Lavellan released a breath.

  
  
  


The others didn't come along until it was later in the day, meeting their vanguard from farther down the road. Lavellan was surprised to see that they were coming from ahead; she'd assumed that they would have had to catch up to the wagon instead. She moved towards the front of the wagon to get a better look soon as Maryden mentioned seeing people ahead.

Rocky gave a loud bellow as soon as they were all in sight of one another, which Bull returned in even fuller gusto to not be outdone. In the distance, Dalish had begun waving both her arms overhead. Krem took a hand off the reins to wave back in earnest.

Skinner snorted from her place next to Lavellan. "Buffoons. As if we didn't just see each other."

But the small smile and newfound alertness in her eyes betrayed her as she too fixed her gaze to the approaching group.

Sure as to be expected from the Chargers, the raucous peaked as they met. Bull was sure to clash gauntlet or slap armor of the newly rejoined company. Banter and barb were traded, with laughter clattering all around.

Surprisingly, it was Grim who met Lavellan's eyes first. He nodded to her with a grunt.

"Well, well, look who's up and about," Rocky called up to her with a wide smile. He shot a look at Krem. "Does that mean Mommy Dearest finally gave it a rest?"

"Hey!" Iron Bull protested.

"Iron Hen," Skinner contributed, bringing back her earlier creation. She looked satisfied as it earned some snickers from her companions.

" _ The _ Iron Hen," Bull repeated himself, but he wasn't alone. Perfectly reading him and his reaction, Dalish had also chimed in with a mock deeper voice. The bit won even more guffaws from the company.

"He did, thank the Maker," Krem said, answering Rocky's earlier question. "Only after bludgeoning her until she was nearly out again. Because of course."

"Of course!" all the Chargers shouted, and one might have wondered if they had rehearsed it if not for the collapse of laughter they fell into upon realizing the coincidence.

Even Lavellan had to laugh, and she shot a look at Cole to garner his response. He met her gaze coolly, not joining with the talks, but also not at all averse to the newly loud atmosphere.

"Come then." Stitches had climbed onto the wagon, gesturing Lavellan over to him. "Let's have a look."

"Stop making it sound like Lavellan can't hold her own," Iron Bull argued. "She's the one who picked a fight with  _ me _ ."

Grim grunted at him.

"I tried to warn him," Krem called back.

"And I warned her," Skinner said.

Stitches tsked. "Some people don't process warnings right. We already knew that."

To this, Bull let out a guffaw. Lavellan may have joined him, but the sudden feel of Stitches' touch on her skin made her jump.

Her hand flew protectively to her neck, and her wide eyes met Stitches' own look of surprise. To his credit, it took him barely half a moment to contain his expression to one of indifference. He made no further move towards her.

"Your wrist then?" he asked. "The jugular's not the only way get a pulse-- it's just the easiest one."

Lavellan attempted to shrug off her strange reaction as she held out her arm. "Y-Yeah. That's fine. I didn't...."

She trailed off, embarrassed and unable to explain. Stitches didn't press. This time, as he took her wrist in his hands, he moved slowly and deliberately, and didn't encroach anymore than he had to.

Luckily, the awkward exchange went by unnoticed by the rest of the company. Bull and Krem were now teaming up to needle Rocky, while Dalish laughed alongside them. Maryden's playing added another cushion of distraction. And Skinner was speaking to Grim, who was walking along the wagon where she sat and grunting along as he listened.

The wagon creaked slightly, and it was then Lavellan noticed they were leaving the road. Soon the rumble of the pebble and dust was replaced by the give of grass and soft soil.

"Not as bad as it was," Stitches finally said, letting go of her.

"And how bad was it?" Lavellan asked, genuinely curious, and yet on the other hand, preemptively apathetic to whatever answer came.

"A decent share of scrapes and bruises; one good potion did you right by those. You also had quite the fever running, but the cold symptoms were gone after your first day of being kept warm and dry." He pursed his lips, nodding at her left arm. "The magic there did the real number, though I don't know enough about it to say how that works."

"There's a very inclusive guild for that," she remarked.

The corner of his lip lifted. "Also, you need to eat. Your heart's trying to overcompensate for the lack of nutrients while you've been out."

"I had some fruit earlier today," Lavellan informed him.

"And I'm sure whatever bout you had with the Bull burned away what little energy that gave you."

On cue, something rolled onto Lavellan's lap. A peach. At some point, Cole had settled down on her other side.

"Good looking out, as per usual, lad," Stitches chuckled. To Lavellan he said, "You've got to hand it to this one. We were in the area, but even with the green light, you were so far off the beaten path that we would never have found you without him. Scared the right mind out of us springing up out of nowhere the way he did though."

Lavellan could imagine. She remembered how he was just before he'd left her, eyes devoid of all else save for a sharp drive to his task. To help.

"Reaching, racing, eyes raking the dark, raring," Cole mumbled, looking at Stitches thoughtfully. "You were there because you wanted to be."

"That, and the Bull was just about tearing his horns out," Stitches supplied with an exasperated look.

Lavellan blinked. "Yeah, what were you all doing out there in the middle of the night?"

"We were tracking that group of bandits you'd run into." Stitches' gaze darkened. "Slave traders. They've been raiding steads in this area. They kept slipping from us before we could pen them in though. When Bull got a bird from the old Commander that you were here too, well. There have been happier coincidences."

Lavellan couldn't even bring herself to laugh at the irony. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a coincidence be a happy thing. The way she knew the world, coincidences tended more often than not to be terrible things. Happiness could be begged for, stolen, and clawed for, and still remain out of reach.

Still....

"One less thing to worry about then," she concluded with a snort.

"Yeah, you gutted the lot of them," Stitches agreed. "A few of them survived, ghastly sights, but nothing they didn't deserve. And a few earlier deserters could still run; we ran into those on our way to you."

Lavellan didn't bother with tact when she asked, "What happened to them?"

And Stitches didn't bother with tact when he told her, "With pleasure, Herald, we offed 'em. All of them. Might I add, some of us with more pleasure than others."

She didn't need to ask who. Lavellan had spent enough battles with Bull at her side to know.

  
  
  


As night fell, the temperature plummeted. But they had enough firewood to get a large fire burning steadily, and it was the warmest that Lavellan had been in quite some time. Although she'd apparently spent the past few days unconscious, she fell asleep hard and fast like she'd spent them wide awake.

By the time she woke up in the early morning's chill, the fire had long burned out, but the armth had stayed contained in her blankets. And though she couldn't remember, she was with the notion that she had nice dreams the night prior.

She blinked drowsily at a part of her tent wall that looked newly sewn in, and reinforced.

"I told you," Cole said, from where he sat next to her. "I fixed it."


	9. By The Horns

Camping with a large group of people was a normally boisterous affair. Camping with the Chargers meant casks broken open, and drinking just because.

Lavellan, having felt exhausted by nightfall despite sleeping for the past few days, had turned in early. And though she'd expected to be kept up by the same raucous she used to hear from them when she passed by Herald's Rest years ago, they actually stayed at a surprisingly low level of noise. Or, she'd just been that tired.

Cole was breaking down and packing up their supplies with the same efficiency without her that he always had. And when Lavellan asked any of the Chargers if she could assist with something, they declined her politely. Truth be told, _she_ wasn't even sure if she'd be able to assist with anything, but it didn't feel right to not try to.

"Yes, that's why we met," Cole murmured behind her. "That's _how_ we met. Streams coursing off the backs of mountains, joining as a river. All are drops of water, wandering and wayfaring.... That's how we stayed."

He hadn't turned around to look at her, and simply continued his task. It was clear he hadn't necessarily intended to start a conversation so much as speak his mind, as Cole was wont to do. So, Lavellan was left with only one thing to do at this point.

She lifted the message crystal from under her shirt.

"Bull," Dorian said, after he'd picked up. He sounded exhausted. "How is she?"

Already Lavellan felt tension bundle in her chest. "She's...here?"

There was a resounding silence. Lavellan, unable to muster the will to discontinue it, instead pacified herself by pressing her feet into the ground and breaking through the thin coating of ice that had frozen over the damp terrain in the night prior.

When Dorian finally spoke, his voice was strangely gruff. "It took you long enough."

"There was a lot going on," Lavellan said lamely, unsure of what else to tell him that Bull already hadn't.

It was weird. With anyone else, Lavellan was sure she would have easily brushed them off, usually in a way that made them angry at her, and pushed the topic elsewhere. With Dorian...it was as if her throat was now suddenly too tight to do the same.

Dorian sounded just as off as she felt. His voice was stilted, fragile almost. "Are you...alright?"

Lavellan ignored the tone of his voice and answered simply, blithely. "Yeah. Stitches has me back on my feet, good as new. And I was even sparring with Bull yesterday."

"No, Lavellan." Dorian's tone hadn't changed. "Are you _alright_?"

And with that, his question couldn't be ignored.

But she was at a loss of how to respond.

Was she alright?

She didn't know. She didn't know if she'd ever again be alright, or if she was ever alright to begin with. Did she even know what 'alright' was? She was constantly caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing--

"You know what, forget I asked," Dorian cut in through her thoughts then, voice suddenly soft and yet firmer. "Tell me later if it's to your liking, or don't. I'm sure between the two of us, I'll find something else we can talk about."

Lavellan was just trying to focus on breathing. "Okay."

Then, in the same blithe manner as Lavellan had attempted before, Dorian said, "On that note, you may find amusement in my own state when it was Bull who started speaking through the crystal."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely. It was not my finest hour, but done magnificently as all things I do in the essence that I was a magnificent wreck."

She cracked a slight smile. "Poor Bull."

"This isn't about him. Poor _me_ , Lavellan."

"My mistake," she snorted. "You know, if you're dead set on a pity-party, I know someone who's pretty good at indulging that sort of thing. I ought to send him over to you."

"Actually," Dorian said, with a detectable shift in his voice. "Where is Cole now?"

Lavellan regretted mentioning him immediately. "Wait a minute--"

"I'd like to have...a chat with him."

She said with warning, "Dorian."

"Is he there? Could you put him on, maybe?"

"Dorian, stop."

"I know what you're thinking."

"Oh?"

"And you're wrong."

"Really."

"I simply want to ask him some things."

"No."

"Lavellan--"

"No, Dorian."

"I just want to _talk_ to him!"

Lavellan groaned, overcome with deja vu.

"I'm here, Dorian," Cole moaned right next to her, to the crystal. "You can talk. I will listen."

"Stop that," Lavellan told him. He hadn't been there a moment ago, but she was hardly surprised whenever he appeared out of nowhere anymore. Lavellan pushed at him, though he barely budged. So she instead leaned away from him, angling the crystal to her other side. "Anyway, we made it out fine. That's what counts."

"As it stands, there will be no skin left on your teeth by the end of this," Dorian grumbled. "And _I_ will be haggard. What have I told you about me and premature aging? Namely, how I'd like to avoid it. Honestly, did you even think of how I would feel before you decided to solo a raiding party of outlaws? Do you think about me at all? I found a _gray hair_ two days ago, Lavellan!"

Lavellan found a chortle bubbling out of her before she could help it. "Isn't there a Tevinter blood ritual you can add to your beauty routine? Maybe something involving virgins would do the trick."

"I'll have you know, virgins are horrendously rare in Tevinter." A bit more scathingly, he added. "Something contributed to by, I don't know, slave traders, probably. The kind of people no one should face alone. Or, not naming names, _leave their friends to face alone_!"

Cole moaned in recoil. "It churns, weighs down so heavy, smothering, a crawl like oozing...."

"I already told you, it's not his fault," Lavellan emphasized, bewildered at Cole's expression.

"I named no names," Dorian sniffed.

"Look, it was my call. I figured I was done for, and I didn't want him to stick around for it. That's all there is to it."

When Dorian had no response, Lavellan thought she'd won.

It was only after a moment, she realized the silence extended to everyone around her. Not only had conversation halted, but activity as well. Despite there previously been a bustle around her as they all packed, it had all suddenly quieted down. It was as if everyone had gone still.

Lavellan glanced around, but just as quickly, the bustle returned, though not without small tells that the pause had not been her imagination. She caught Bull's gaze across the way, who had not taken the cue to join the charade that none of them had been eavesdropping. He was frowning at her.

Only after she tilted her head in question did he look away, but his frown remained.

It was Cole who broke the otherwise silence. "You said you were _bracing_ , not preparing! They were supposed to be different!"

"I'll be an old man," Dorian lamented then. "I'm going to look like my father. Except much more dashing. But still old! And like my _father_!"

Lavellan sighed in audible exasperation, though somehow, she felt as if she also could have laughed.

  
  


Curiously, the group had split into two once again for travel. This time, Krem, Maryden, and Skinner went on ahead with Stitches and Dalish, while the rest of them stayed behind with the wagon. Lavellan attempted to prod Iron Bull as to why, but he only answered vaguely.

"Is it a job?" she guessed. "Some kind of errand?"

"You can call it that," Bull said, walking beside her as she sat in the wagon.

"Does it have to do with why you're traveling south?"

"Yeah."

"So...what is it then?"

"I forgot how many questions you ask," Bull muttered to himself.

Rocky, holding the reins to the nuggalope that day, coughed, "Oldhabitsdiehard."

The Iron Bull shot him a glare. But he told Lavellan, "It's just Charger stuff, boss. Nothing you need to be thinking about."

"It must pay decent to have you come all this way," she remarked.

"Notasgoodasitusedto," Rocky coughed.

"That's really not as subtle as you think," Bull told him with a deepening frown.

"It's this big of a secret, though?" Lavellan asked, glancing between them.

The last word she'd received of the Bull's Chargers, they accepted work throughout both Orlais and Ferelden. Stitches had mentioned them tracking those slave traders. It wouldn't surprise her to find that they were working on multiple contracts, considering how long her old laundry list used to be when she played Inquisitor and it seemed like all of Thedas was requiring her assistance.

"From things I've heard, whatever you're traveling for is something you'd rather keep to yourself too," was Bull's retort.

There was no denying that.

She'd been grateful that Cole had the tact to only mention the direction they were traveling in, and not the destination. At the least, she was also relieved to see that Bull didn't seem as eager or hopeful as Dorian pertaining to her itinerary. The primary reason she was still keeping it under wraps in the first place was to not get anyone's hopes up.

But also, not to get her own hopes up. It was a long shot, after all. But it was worth the stop if her only other option was somehow making it to Tevinter.

"YoucantaketheQunarioutoftheInquisitionbutyoucanttaketheInquistionoutoftheQunari," Rocky then coughed out in a bluster.

Iron Bull took a whack at him, and Rocky only guffawed through a sputter. Lavellan reached out in alarm as the dwarf tumbled across the front bench.

Before he could fall off the far side, Grim caught him by the leg and hoisted him back upright. He grunted at him in reprimand, above Rocky's muffled chortle from within his crooked-turned helmet. And he grunted sternly at Bull too, who only shrugged in half-hearted protest.

Lavellan looked to Cole to see if he had any observation to share over what just happened, but she found him keeping to himself, only the slightest of a smile on his face. With a smile of her own, she bumped against his shoulder on purpose in the same rowdy manner that Bull had taken with Rocky.

She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be around people.

With how the Anchor had been, she hadn't even been thinking about her next opportunity to. There had been too much pain, and too much instability besides. She had been a literal walking bomb. Compared to then, the present felt surreal.

Similar to the barest dull glow that her left arm now cast, the pain she felt now was comparable to a stinging sensation. Still pain, and yet hardly pain at this point so much as sensation to her.

It was nothing at all like what it was before when it had been unbearable, writhing under her flesh, omnipresent, leaving her lock-jointed and paranoid for the next outpour of magic not native to her body. She had honestly thought she'd die before she'd ever be in this close to others again.

Well, other than that night, with the bandits....

"That doesn't count," Cole whispered sharply at her side. When she glanced to him in surprise, his features softened and he repeated, "It doesn't count."

  
  


Just as with the day before, the two groups reconvened just before dusk to pull off-road and set up camp for the evening. This time, Lavellan had the energy to stay up and drink with the rest of them. Bull was ecstatic, though Stitches warned him off of having her drink too much.

She was grateful for that, though she wouldn't say so. She had a bad tendency to try and match Bull drink for drink, despite the fact that he was much larger than her and drank harder spirits. The fact of the matter was, she was a lightweight, and there had been more than one morning that she could remember Cassandra reprimanding her as she vomited in a bucket.

It was well enough that she could eat some hot stew. Cole sat by her in silence, swaying just barely to the music Maryden played.

Tonight, the drinking contest competitors narrowed down to Skinner, Iron Bull, Grim, and Rocky. Bull had tried to egg Krem into it too, but Krem shot him down each time with the air of someone who simply knew better.

It may have had something to do with how Bull and Rocky were not-so-discreetly dousing the ale with something with such a strong scent that Lavellan's nostrils burned even from some distance away, even over the smell of her food.

"Dreadfully strong stuff," Dalish commented as she took a seat on Lavellan's other side. "Although I've seen you handle it just fine."

Only barely-- and the way her stomach twisted in memory at the brutality of those morning hangovers was testament to it. But Lavellan's pride kept her from saying as much. Instead, she gestured to Bull and Rocky's subterfuge. "Is no one gonna say anything about that?"

"Watch."

Lavellan did, and inwardly winced as the first round was downed by the four contestants with gusto. Still, she couldn't help but snicker and even feel somewhat envious of their fun.

"I'm not sure what I should call you now," Dalish admitted then. When Lavellan glanced over, she continued, "I've thought about continuing with 'Inquisitor', but you're not anymore. And I think the names we use, the ones we give ourselves, are important. So, what name do you go by these days?"

"'Lavellan' works fine," Lavellan told her, and then wondered why she felt like she was giving something away unknowingly. She'd been going by Lavellan, even before she took on the headship title for the Inquisition.

Dalish smiled into her mug before having a drink. Rather than continue with that topic, she nodded back over at the drinking contest.

Across the campfire, they'd gotten a couple more rounds in. Astonishingly, both Grim and Skinner seemed to be unphased despite the spiked drink mix. Bull and Rocky were glancing between one another, wonderstruck for all of a moment, before pushing for the next round.

Lavellan couldn't shake Dalish's talk of names, though.

"Do you have a name other than Dalish?" Lavellan asked.

Dalish kept smiling and returned, "Do you have a name other than Lavellan?"

All at once, it hit her then the intent of Dalish's initial question, as well as what she had given when she gave her answer.

"Before anyone knows me, they will know of what I am, of where I come from," Cole mumbled. "Of where I belong."

Lavellan seized from a sudden flood of panic, but Dalish hadn't noticed him. Sometimes Cole did that-- said things only she would hear. She wasn't exactly sure how he differentiated what he allowed others to hear, though she was relieved that this was one of the more private instances.

Dalish's attention had been pulled back to the drinking contest, where the noise had taken a sudden rise. It seemed Grim and Skinner were still going strong and steady, while Rocky was literally spinning on his toes and Bull was demanding they still continue with the competition.

As she watched them, Lavellan stole the opportunity to stare at her vallislin.

It wasn't exactly...envy, she felt. It wasn't exactly nostalgia either.

She remembered choosing her own vallislin, intentionally picking the most obnoxiously emboldened design she could with everything to prove; she remembered losing that vallislin, a split-second decision among so many she'd been making at the time and maybe she'd grown too used to it at that point, on the basis that she thought she didn't have to prove anything with it anymore. The irony in hindsight was enough to make her cringe.

All she had left of that heritage now was a name.

Even her other name she'd given to the same person she'd given everything else to.

She lowered her eyes just as Dalish glimpsed back over to her.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Dalish's voice was kind when she spoke again. "Being pushed out from your clan."

Lavellan thought for a moment, wringing out all the possible words she could say, before admitting, "Honestly? It's easier than still being _in_ the clan."

There was guilt that gnawed at her for the statement. It felt wrong to state out loud, as true as it was, and as obvious as it had been.

An elder might have said all of her bad luck was due to the Creators finally punishing her insolence. She had scorned her ancestors and scandalized her clan on multiple occasions with her behavior, her simple manner of being, and even now only ever found herself speaking with scorn of her upbringing and scoffing at her clan's bending to the so-revered old ways.

It was much different, she realized then, to how high of esteem Solas held for the past and for his people. He would bring this world down around their ears for his own to be revived. Lavellan merely cut her losses. She'd given up her vallislin, and he'd given up her. Was that why he was winning, and she was dying?

It was only thanks to the alcohol that this bite came muted, feeling more like a massage than the usual shredding of her insides.

Dalish's laugh washed the feeling away completely. "That's true. I like to think it had to happen so we could find our true clan, anyway."

When Lavellan met her gaze, Dalish's eyes were warm and sympathetic. She understood. The pressure, the uniformity, and the expectation that came with their culture. Such a small moment, and yet it made everything that much easier to bear.

"To true clans then," Lavellan said, picking up her own mug and raising it to the other elf.

Dalish knocked her mug to Lavellan's with a grin, and they both took hearty drinks.

"They've done it now," Dalish spoke over the rim of her mug.

On the other side of camp, the drinking contest looked to be coming to a definite close. Grim and Skinner were barely swaying, while Rocky lay on the ground completely passed out. Bull was shouting for more rounds, words slurred and likely not even aware of what he was saying, while Stitches had involved himself and was talking him off of the idea.

Dalish and Lavellan caught each other's eyes and burst out laughing.

Lavellan went to sleep that night, red-warm from liquor and swayed easily into slumber upon hitting her bedroll.

The next morning, she again woke with a strange feeling of peace.

  
  


At first, she had assumed it was simply having Bull around that made it so easy to be around the rest of the Chargers.

It didn't take much longer before it became apparent that the Chargers as a whole were easy to be around. All too easily she assimilated into the routine of loading up into the wagon, traveling the route by day, setting up camp by dusk, and drinking by nightfall.

Cole seemed equally content with the company, allowing himself to be noticed, helping with small tasks that could make someone's day, and surprisingly not being too invasive with people's thoughts.

It felt as if they'd _been_ traveling together all along.

Lavellan chatted breezily with whomever stayed with the wagon on a given day, sparred with Bull if she got too bored, and enjoyed the readily-available and seemingly bottomless assortments of alcohol the Chargers kept stocked when it was time to wind down from the day's travel.

One of the nights she took up the challenge of drinking against the Bull and a few others. Similar to the previous instance, she spied the Iron Bull spiking the cask for the contest with his Qunari spirit. But Grim pulled her around to show that there was a discreet second spout and compartment to that cask, where the fair players pulled the regular ale from.

Lavellan, in true fashion, drank anyway from the spiked batch.

She paid for it the next morning, retching violently over the side of the wagon with Stitches hovering and grousing at both her and Bull for overdoing it. When he had his back turned though, she and Bull would exchange grins of no regret. She laid down to nap the rest of her hangover away, and Cole laid the cool back of his hand against her face; it soothed her sickness enough that she was able to fall asleep.

  
  


At a point in their travels, Lavellan did find out the reason for the group splitting into two.

"Scouting?" she practically exclaimed.

"No, not scouting," Bull argued, lamely rubbing the back of his neck. "Just...going ahead to...take a look around...and, y'know, handle any trouble so we don't have to."

"So. Scouting."

"Scouting, and not-scouting," Cole chimed in then, with a pointed glance to her. "Like preparing, and bracing."

She frowned at him. "You're still mad about that?"

He only looked away. So she continued pressing Bull.

"You couldn't just tell me so? It's not like it's a bad strategy. Keeping the wagon safe is a good idea."

Krem, who was laying with his head in Maryden's lap, gave a chuckle, though he turned away to be subtle. Maryden adjusted her lute to accommodate the movement.

"It's not so much the wagon as it is the cargo he's concerned about protecting from all looming dangers," the minstrel intoned, strumming a few stray notes to punctuate the flow of her voice.

"But the cargo is in the wagon," said Lavellan, confused as to what the difference was.

"Words filtered and fitted, like keys unlocking what otherwise remains locked tight, safe and lonely," Cole said, shaking his head. "You must have the right keys for the right locks."

Lavellan didn't even bother trying to decipher what that was about; she had a feeling she would only get annoyed if she did.

"I'll go ahead with the forward group tomorrow," she announced to Bull. Now that she knew the Chargers, save for Bull, had been in something of a rotation with who went ahead in the scouting unit, she thought it was only fair to pull her own weight.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, attempting to wave her off.

"I'm not. Because I'm going."

Bull's hard-set eyes met hers, and she held his gaze plainly. In all honesty, she actually wasn't trying to be especially combative. She just wasn't sure why he would have been opposed to her going in the first place.

Stitches, who was driving the wagon that day, spoke up then. "She's fine for it. If anything, the exercise would be good."

"What, the sparring isn't exercise enough?" Bull said, looking between him and Lavellan.

"It's not about the exercise," she said. "I just wanna make myself useful."

"Yeah, I know," Bull sighed, for some reason looking all the more disdained.

For a very disconcerting moment, something about his expression was reminding her of Cullen.

"They fight the same fight," Cole stated quietly. "Distance grows and time passes, and some things don't change. This stays and it matters, warming every pulse and sharpening every breath. It's a weakness that gives strength."

If anyone else heard him, no one made note of it. Lavellan herself barely wanted to make note of it. She'd heard enough of their 'fight' and where they intended to take it from Leliana. And Lavellan still barely knew what ground she wanted to stand on in that whole mess.

"Alright, fuck it," Bull declared suddenly. "I'm in."

Lavellan raised her eyebrows, but felt a smile creep across her face. "With me?"

"And no one was surprised," Krem proclaimed loudly.

"I gotta put in my own hours with scouting duty anyway," Bull explained.

"You mean put in overtime with puppy-guarding."

"If only Rocky were here to present us with a coughing fit," Maryden lamented.

"The keys he coughs-- those are the ones that may fit the right locks," Cole said, and this time everyone was aware of him speaking. "Perhaps Stitches can help him so that they come out properly."

"Nay, lad," Stitches chuckled. "The coughs are nothing that needs looking over."

"We might as well bring Cole along too, for the old time's sake," Bull suggested to Lavellan.

She nodded in response, but inwardly she was sort of taken off guard. It may have been all their time spent traveling together, but she had already assumed Cole's accompanying was a given.

At that moment, Cole looked at her.

If she were to guess, she would say he seemed somewhat pleased. Though what she wouldn't have been able to guess was as to why.

Again, she slept well that night. Her dreams were warm, and simple. And she would be in comfort as she blinked awake come morning.

It would be more amusing to her that she found this to be foreign if she didn't feel like there was something important missing in all this. She'd simply figured her good sleep had something to do with her night caps with the Chargers, or the fact that her arm didn't feel like it was eating itself.

But, as she thought about it, she came to the realization that she hadn't been visited by Solas for some time now.


End file.
